


Irony, Cards Held, and a Harvard Sweater

by Diary



Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Bechdel Test Pass, Inspired by Teen Wolf (TV), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tags May Change, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2020-06-25 18:41:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 77,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19751542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diary/pseuds/Diary
Summary: An Urban Fantasy/Magic Realism take on Chris and Toby with several other divergences from canon. WIP.





	1. Prologue

Tim, you’re crazy, is a thought Sean Murphy often has.

He’s been tempted to punch people for saying these words aloud, but ignoring the fact he does strive to minimise the violence in the world, not add to it, well, punching someone for stating a fact is no way to go through life.

Tim’s family claims to have never had a hunter in it, and while he doesn’t believe this, he likes Mr and Mrs McManus. He always felt safe going over to their house as a kid, and they worried about normal kid stuff when Tim came over to his, Tim having a nightmare, Tim accidentally being exposed to black olives (green’s always been fine), and Tim managing to hurt himself during bike rides. They didn’t worry about his parents selling Tim on the human black market or inviting an alpha over to bite him.

He was two or three when his family was having a barbecue, and a little boy came over. The little boy was completely naked, and so, he’d taken off his own shirt, and they’d babbled in a mixture of English and baby garbles as they played in dirt until one of the adults realised there was an unknown, diaper-less toddler sitting in their yard on top of his shirt.

Theodore McManus was somehow Timmy, and this turned to Tim as they grew older. The McManus’s apologised profusely once he was returned (he’d slipped out of the doggy-door when they thought he was taking a nap) and brought over a cherry pie a few days later.

Mr and Mrs McManus are an older couple who’d been at peace with their inability to conceive until their miracle baby arrived. Tim wasn’t spoiled, he’d argue, but Tim was definitely an only child. He had the best his parents could ever give him and all their doting attention.

Tim was a troublemaker, just not the kind who often got in trouble, mainly, because, a lot of the time he himself was there to drag Tim away before anything got too bad.

When Tim calls, he barely gets out a, “Hey, Tim,” before Tim is saying, “They’re letting me run my own wing of the prison, Sean. It’s going to be a close mixture of shifters and humans. I could really use someone I trust to help me get it off the ground.”

Tim should have been a lawyer or journalist or even an alphabet agency analyst, but since Tim is crazy, Tim decided he’d work in the prison system.

Before the economy went to shit, he could have bought his house outright. People at Attica like him. Or at least, he’s established a steady bond with most of them; his colleagues know he’s honest, and most of the prisoners are willing to follow the big rules when he’s around due to knowing he’s not going to get violent and sadistic over the little ones being broken.

The tiny, roly-poly secretary at Attica who wears oval sunglasses that make her resemble a fluffy, bright amber-eyed owl to protect her sensitive white eyes from every light source but the moon, she’s tried everything from begging (he distracted her with broken-spined hardback books from the library) to bribing (her sister’s custard pie was damn good) to pathetic attempts at blackmail (most of the prisoners couldn’t muster up either amusement or disgust and instead were temporarily more prone to not damaging books) to get him to agree to let her set him up with her cousin, and there’d been one point when he’d been tempted.

In the end, though, he’s not a one-night stand or friends with benefits type guy, and he figured being unwilling to buy a house, because, he knew his best friend might need him to quit his job and move one day was a good indication he wouldn’t be able to commit the way he should to anyone he got involved with.

Therefore, he’d saved his money up for a brand-new, steady car with four-wheel drive, leather seats, and built in navigation. He’s had the email with his resignation saved in his draft folder for months.

“Any way I can tempt you to come down here?”

He’d started looking up hotels online before Tim got to the part about it being a close mixture of shifters and humans. Tim will probably try to convince him to stay in Tim’s spare bedroom, but he’s not going to deal with the smell of all the one-night stands and friends with benefits Tim has had over.

…

“Tim, the lack of proper cameras is a real problem.”

There are plenty of physical cameras, though, there is one area they should probably add another, but they’re cameras designed to record humans. Vampires and talented lycanthropes who know how to project their aura over their face, on the other hand-

Tim launches into a rant about budgets.

Not able to help his sigh, he resolves to just let it go for now.

And then, he nearly beats his head against a glass pane door (hey, if it can’t stand a normal werecoyote applying force, they’ll know it can’t withstand a shifter hopped up on that newest strain of wolfsbane going around or blood spiked with who knows what) when he finds out Tim wants to bring several white supremacist members of Planet Human (real original name, he’s always sarcastically thought) into Emerald City.

(Admittedly, in this instance, Tim doesn’t get any points for creativity, either.)

“I can open minds and hearts, Sean,” Tim earnestly insists.

No, you can’t, is his weary, guilt-ridden thought. Or at least, not like this.

It’s the truth, though. Tim has a big heart and a Harvard-worthy mind, but aside from occasionally having a silver tongue when it comes to women, he isn’t the type to influence people. His parents, sure. The best friend he’s known since they were both in pull-ups, yes. People who are rough and either don’t want or believe in the type of world a white human man from an upper-class family dreams about, no.

The Murphy family can’t stand politicians, but Tim might make a half-decent one. He’d definitely be better at that than this.

For now, Tim isn’t going to budge.

Well, step one: Protect Tim. Step two: Protect the vulnerable inmates. Step three: If he ends up dying, remember it’s his own fault for not buying his house and making that little secretary’s day by going out with her cousin.

Sure, the cousin was a vampire, but his family wouldn’t care about that. Said cousin was an accountant who loved sports cars and anime and had a habit of falling for human jerks. She and the rest of their clan wanted him to find a nice shifter with a decent job.

She’d shown him pictures. The cousin was a little more boyish-looking than he preferred, but still, he was a nice looking man.


	2. Betrayal

**Present Day (Starting in 1998)**

Sanity is slipping away, goes through Toby’s head.

He can feel it.

Hill’s being moved, and this is Murphy’s doing, he knows.

Hill is an annoying roommate. He snores, he’s snarky about his (Toby’s) own nightmares, and it’s hell when he eats anything green for supper.

However, Hill is safe. A human in a wheelchair, a sober man, definitely not friends of the Aryans but not part of any of the black groups either, he’s no threat.

Neither is he himself, not to Hill, but Murphy doesn’t believe this. Murphy had made it clear he didn’t agree with putting such a vulnerable human in with the crazy werewolf.

Must have finally talked McManus around.

He’d wonder how Murphy did, but it’d fall flat. Murphy is a legit good old Catholic boy. The answer is: They went out for burgers, he bought McManus a beer or two, and he was the kind of rational McManus wishes McManus was. There was a shapely waitress or female patron with distinctive lipstick, and once McManus agreed, Murphy took the car keys, made sure McManus had money for a cab (and probably checked there were condoms, too), and left McManus to see if he could share that cab with the woman.

There’s going to be a new podmate, either a more powerful shifter or a white supremacist hunter knowing his luck, and everything’s going to be worse.

He follows Wittlesey, and when they get to processing, he sees who’s new before she says anything.

Human. Broken wrist and sprained arm. Could be a hunter. Strong, well-maintained body makes it clear, even with the hand, he’d have a chance in a fight.

His eyes are hard to read.

Never a good thing.

They go to the pod, and he’s not surprised by the question regarding his sexuality. He would have been, once upon a time.

What he is surprised by is, turning the question back, he gets, “I do what I have to.”

There’s honesty in this, and this only makes the new guy harder to label.

He’s gotten to really like labels. He was the weak lawyer with addiction issues and no sense of self-worth. He’s currently one of the top crazies.

O’Reily can be peaceful to sit with, but O’Reily’s a Shakespeare villain made manifest.

McManus is the useless idiot who thinks he’s a saviour but only makes things worse, and Murphy’s pursuit of the American dream is tampered by the strong childhood loyalty that compels him to step in when McManus is about to do something too idiotic; can’t go home to face one of the few human families in the neighbourhood to say, ‘Hey, I know your boy helped me with my homework and I drove him home when he snuck out of prom drunk as a skunk, but we’re both grown men, and it ain’t my responsibility to keep wiping Timmy boy’s nose every time he gets the sniffles.’

O’Reily would be less peaceful to sit with if he knew how stereotypical the one guard O’Reily actually likes features in his head.

Vern- still in one of the other units. He tries hard not to think of him.

The new guy, Keller, is eyeing him, and he realises he’s probably either been speaking all these thoughts aloud or gone into one of his rhyming fits.

“I have my own schedule, hopefully different from yours. If you have any questions, don’t come find me.”

…

He doesn’t know if Keller listened or not. Keller could be here the same reason he is: Making a phone call.

Part of him doubts, however, the person on the other end of Keller’s line would be Keller’s grandmother. His is fussing about how Holly ran over some little neighbour boy’s remote control car with her bike after he wouldn’t stop chasing her and Gary around with it. Gen and his parents have had a talk about better ways to handle the situation in the future but aren’t punishing her, and he doesn’t know how he would have felt before Oz, but now, his first thought is: Good.

Holly’s always had a strong sense of self, and this used to- He wasn’t a good father. Gary, hopefully, Gary does, too, but like him, Gary’s quiet and shy and used to cry easily over things. Holly, though, she’s always looked out for her little brothers. His parents sent him a recording of little Harry chirping, “Ollie!”

Apparently, this was his first word.

He should try to get it together enough to talk to Gen soon, see if there’s anything he can do to make all this easier for her and them.

The smell of blood and sound of cracking draws him out of his thoughts, and he sprints out just in time to grab one of the Aryans about to attack Keller.

Keller broke Mack’s nose.

Whatever the reason, good for him, too.

And maybe, good for he himself. Maybe this means Keller isn’t going to be joining Vern’s little squad anytime soon.

“I owe you.”

Should have just finished listening to Grandmother fuss, is his mournful thought. Owing and being owed is never a good thing in this place.

“I didn’t do it for you, pal.” He makes clear his hatred of the Aryans.

…

“Hey, sorry if I interrupted your call earlier.”

Keller is sitting next to him in the cafeteria.

It could be because, Keller is new and they’re podmates, logical, but his paranoia is high.

His paranoia might end up getting him killed before anything or anyone actually against him does.

He keeps eating, and Keller shows no sign of being offended.

Just like Vern didn’t, either, once.

O’Reily sits down. “Hey, Beech. You in one of your more stable moods today?”

“Yep.”

“Good.” Directing his attention to Keller, the two do the clasped hands, semi-hugging gesture he’s never understood people who’ve never met performing as O’Reily greets, “Hey, man, I’m Ryan O’Reily.”

“Chris Keller. You know, I’m rooming with this,” unflattering but accurate words are applied, “here. Anything I should know?”

“Keep your hands to yourself, and be careful playing chess with him.”

Keller scoffs. “Never been my game.”

“Definitely don’t play against him, then. Otherwise, if he starts saying crazy shit, just keep out of striking distance ‘til it passes.”

“Always so helpful,” he mutters.

O’Reily glances at him. “Want to play before lights out?”

“Yeah, sure.”

…

“Why don’t you and O’Reily play for stakes?”

Keller is having trouble getting out of his pants.

“I wouldn’t say we’re friends, but I helped him once, and he’s one of the few people here who usually doesn’t make me crazier.”

“No shit?” Pausing in his efforts to get a leg out, Keller looks almost impressed. “You helped O’Reily?”

“I was a lawyer. I proofread a brief his brother’s incompetent lawyer was planning to file. Don’t know whether it helped or not, but O’Reily loves his brother. I’m currently low on his list of people he plans to actively-” He realises he might have said too much.

Shrugging, Keller finally manages to get the pants off. “You like his brother?”

He doesn’t bother repressing his shudder. “Mentality of a five-year-old.”

Or this is the clinical diagnosis, but personally, from the one time he met Cyril, he’d say Holly and Gary at age five were smarter and had a better grasp of the world than Cyril does.

Going over to the sink, Keller nods. “One of my ex-wives sometimes babysat her sister’s kids. They were alright, but one day, she had to go out, made it clear me not watching them would mean me finding somewhere else to sleep that night.”

“How’d it go?”

Keller goes over to the toilet. “It went good for them. I got yelled at a good ten minutes for- I don’t know. I tried to follow the rules of the tea party, but I obviously didn’t do something right. One of them was hungry every thirty minutes. And the oldest, she locked herself in our bedroom to talk on the phone for about four hours.”

Rather than legitimate annoyance or anger, Keller radiates a mixture of confusion and vague fondness at the memory. He probably never got fully attached to the kids, but they were likely all unharmed when their aunt got back.

Getting into his bunk, Keller says, “Night, Beecher.”

…

A nightmare wakes them both up, and common sense would dictate a person listen when they’ve been told _keep your hands to yourself_ , but Keller touches him.

Later, he’ll realise it was with the hand with a cast and that the touches had been on his arm. “ _I’m just wondering what happened.”_

If it had been a man jolted out of sleep and just doing what normal people would do, establish contact with the person in distress, he should try to make things right before he makes another active enemy.

When he goes to the showers, Keller has his cast wrapped in a bag, but he’s not trying to keep the bag itself dry even though-

Apologise, Beecher, he orders himself.

“Forget about it.” Keller’s tone and chemo signals are both easy. “I've had my share of nightmares. Look, when you helped me out the other day by the phones, I told you, I owe you.”

Before he can respond, Keller continues, “The way I figure it, you and me, we're not like the rest of 'em. The Latinos, the homeboys, the Aryans, they all got each other. You and me, you and me are standing out there with our dicks swinging in the wind. We should be able to rely on each other, you know. Trust each other.”

Never going to happen, isn’t the most diplomatic answer.

“Well, it’s hard for me to trust somebody.”

Keller’s amused, he’s more focused on that than the words, and then, there’s patience when Keller finishes with, “So, why don't we just see what happens, alright? Alright?”

Realising Keller isn’t going to leave without a verbal response, he agrees, “Alright.”

…

Chris wonders if it’s one of life’s funny coincidences or not that he ended up in the same place as Vern again.

Vern had enough outside sources to know about his sentencing and call afterwards, but he really doubts Vern has enough sway to influence where prisoners are sentenced.

It’ll take time for him to find out the whole story, but what he’s been able to piece together so far is: Vern broke Beecher but doesn’t like the end result.

Beecher killed a little girl while driving under the influence. He was married, but whether or not divorce has happened, he isn’t anymore. He has three kids.

More than these facts, he can see crazy thoughts spinning in Beecher’s head. Beecher must’ve been the type who’d get his head stuck in a book, the type who’d bring up a random philosophical thought in the middle of nothing, and then, get hissy about the fact the idiots who don’t live inside his head can’t follow his perfectly logical thought process, the type who wouldn’t dream of hurting someone (addiction-propelled accidents aside) but would breakdown in-detail how this villain movie should be doing X, no wonder the hero beat them, _they_ could’ve beat them even sooner.

People like that- it can be interesting being around them.

He’s never denied he’s a simple man. He likes fun, he doesn’t like authority, and knowing more than you strictly need to has never struck him as terribly important. Most people are more interesting than anything found on TV and especially in books.

Sometimes, he wants to listen to their thoughts, try to figure out what makes them tick, and during those times, if he needs to coax the thoughts out, it’s exciting to try. Other times, before he dismisses them he impatiently wonders how they can prefer staying in their own head to being with other people or just tending to their body’s pleasures rather than their thoughts, especially, since a lot of people like that have shades of depression to them.

O’Reily’s in the laundry room, and hauling his own basket in, he makes it clear exactly how much he hates laundry.

Based on the chuckle this receives, O’Reily does not share his feelings. “If you don’t piss Beecher off and make it worth his while, you could probably pawn it off on him.”

“Really?” Vern wants him to seduce Beecher, but so far, he thinks Vern might have been wrong about Beecher having any attraction to men. If Beecher does, Beecher’s handsome enough, he’d give him a blowjob for fun, be up for some other things, too, but for laundry? Nah.

“What exactly-”

“Ugh. I wouldn’t entertain thoughts like that around Beecher, K-boy. He’s a werewolf, remember, and he’s very observant of chemo signals and shit. Part of the challenge when we play, me having to focus on both the game and my vitals.”

Shrugging, he finally gets the clothes and detergent inside the washer, and turning it on, he goes to hoist himself up beside O’Reily. “Wouldn’t bother me.”

Sighing, O’Reily rolls his eyes. “Why in the hell is it so hard to find straight guys in here?”

“You’re in a prison with a high population of shifters, who have a tendency to be bisexual, and besides that, lot of people like to use sex as a weapon or bargaining chip,” he points out. “Doesn’t matter if they’re straight or not.”

From what he’s gathered, O’Reily doesn’t. Not a choirboy by any stretch, but it seems O’Reily holds to the idea sex should be man buys dinner or drink, listens to woman talk, and if the guy’s lucky, they end up doing another four-letter word. Wear a condom, try to coax her into doing extra but don’t cross the line into pushing, and never make any promises or give a working phone number.

Maybe, this is part of why O’Reily doesn’t freak Beecher out, he realises.

“Anyway, don’t worry. I try to make it a rule not to go for anyone who has a high chance of screwing me over outside of sex.” He catches his eyes. “I won’t hit on you, O’Reily.”

“Good.” Some of O’Reily relaxes even more. “Make that double for Beech. He honestly doesn’t mind laundry. I think he finds it relaxing as long as no one is being loud or getting too close to his space.”

“I got woke up in the middle of the night from him having a nightmare, and he just quietly panted for the rest of the night.”

If not for Beecher being a crazy werewolf, he would have tried to talk his way up onto the top bunk, wrapped his arms around Beecher, and stayed until Beecher was asleep or morning when they both woke up. Sometimes, people need simple physical contact, it don’t matter if they’re human or shifter, and if he doesn’t hate a person, he’s not above providing this.

“Yeah, well.” O’Reily looks away. “Bad shit’s happened to him, but it’s happened to all of us.”

“I won’t hit on him, either, but- look, I touch people. I can’t keep my mouth shut to save my life, literally, as I’ve found out. Just do me a solid, and tell me, do I need to find a way to get moved? He going to move past crazy into bitch-ass psycho if I start shit on a bad day?”

Looking back over, O’Reily shakes his head. “Try not to touch him. But otherwise, he doesn’t care enough about you right now to get pushed into a rage by you being a regular asshole. He’s not exactly sane, but he’s not as crazy as he appears.”

Filing that away, he asks, “What’s the story?”

“You’ll find out soon enough. But I don’t have the same protection of his indifference. He finds out I told you, best case, I’m trying to hunt down a new chess partner. Worse case, blood on the floor.”

Seeing O’Reily’s about to get down, he nudges him. “Hey, you got any cards on you? I’ll play you a friendly game. No stakes.”

O’Reily laughs. “I don’t trust you, Keller, but sure, why not? I’ll figure out your moves before you figure out mine.”

“Only in your dreams, baby.”

Rolling his eyes, O’Reily brings his legs up to turn, and when he does the same, O’Reily starts dealing.

…

It turns out, he doesn’t need to bust his ass finding out Tobias Beecher’s story. A few days after arriving, he meets Vern in the library for a few hours, and Vern is more than happy to explain exactly why he wants Beecher dead, broken the right way, or both.

He made Beecher a prag, easier than it takes to do the same to some humans, and then, one day, Beecher almost killed him.

This might have been fair enough to Vern, but Beecher did some other things, things that lost Vern standing and pride, and that’s the unforgivable. Take a man’s life, his wife, his freedom, but do it in a way that he can still fool himself into thinking he’s no one’s bitch.

“He’ll deny I know him, but I do,” Vern declares. “He wants human society to accept him. He married his species traitor of a wife, had those kids who could manifest one of these days, but same as most of those monsters, he has the capacity for attraction to both. He liked what I did, and he couldn’t handle it.”

Squeezing his shoulder, Vern finishes, “And someone like you, you’re exactly the type he’ll find himself clinging to if you apply some of your famous charm.”

God, that’s a depressing thought, floats through his head.

Still, even though there’s clearly some projection going on, he hasn’t seen anything to make him doubt what Vern says. Beecher is desperate for something or someone to help him get out of his tortured head for long enough for him to truly breathe, and chess with O’Reily and sessions with Sister Pete help, but they ain’t fully doing the trick.

He has no doubt he can draw Beecher out.

…

Twisting at his cast, he goes into the pod, and up in his bunk, a wrinkled-nosed Beecher looks up from his book with a glare.

“You look happy. Hey, don’t start right now, okay, Beecher? You know where I can score some aspirin?”

Giving him a bewildered look, Beecher slides down onto the floor. “What happened?”

“Mack tried to pay me back for his nose. Apparently, that Shill- Skill-”

“Schillinger,” Beecher supplies.

“Whatever. He needs Macky boy for something, and so, he got between us but wasn’t above showing a little of his own objection. It doesn’t have to be aspirin. Tylenol, Ibuprofen, I know anything prescription would show up on a random drug test they suddenly get the idea to implement just hours before the doc will give me my nightly pain pill, but I need some-”

Beecher’s hand is over the fabric on his upper arm, and with a gentle tug, his hand is pulled away from his cast. “First thing, you need to stop messing with the cast. Why don’t you just go get your pill a little early?”

“I’m thinking this doc can probably tell the difference between someone being clumsy and bumping their arm and it being deliberately twisted. Unless I tell her what happened, she’ll have me labelled as a possible drug seeker. Believe it or not, so far, I’ve managed to avoid having that on my file.”

Giving a sympathetic wince, Beecher says, “Yeah.” Then, he sighs. “Alright, look, I can get you something, or there’s something else.”

“Moonshine?”

“I’m not playing any part in you getting moonshine or anything besides a couple of over-the-counter pills,” is the firm response. “And that only extends to right now. If you wanted- I could take your pain.”

“You’d do that? I mean, look, I don’t want you hurting yourself. Just tell me where to go, and I swear, I get caught, your name stays out of it.”

“Minor pain. Goes away in a few seconds,” Beecher says. “Besides, physical pain, I have a higher tolerance for than I imagined. It’s the psychological that really screws me up. But you know that this might take away some of your life force, right?”

Shrugging, he immediately regrets the motion. “Hey, 88 years, I’m a lifer. I’d really like to spend the few good years of youth I have left on not being in physical pain.”

“Okay,” Beecher says.

His hand on the part of the arm above the cast is gentle, and seeing the black veins appearing on Beecher’s arm, he quickly looks up at Beecher’s face.

There’s none of the pain this must be causing visible.

“Now, take a breath.”

He does, and Beecher removes the hand.

There’s the sweet absence of pain, and he almost sags down. “Thanks.”

“Be careful. If it gets hurt again, the pain’ll be even worse. Sit down for a few minutes, let your body adjust.”

They end up on his bunk, and taking a chance, he rubs his shoulder against Beecher’s. “I owe you again.”

“No, you don’t. The Aryans hate me as much as I hate them. You became collateral damage.”

“Not really,” he says. “I’ve met some I haven’t been opposed to being friendly with, but before you ask, no, I don’t buy into that race or species purity crap. It’s just, generally, I’ll treat people how they treat me. My beliefs don’t matter to them, so, theirs don’t to me. In this case, Mack was being a pain in my ass, trying to get me to hand over ten dollars to get to the phones.”

Giving a small chuckle, Beecher fidgets before standing up to get back up on his bunk.

Lying down on his, he braces himself. “Hey, Beecher? What’s your story with them? I know there’s something. I asked O’Reily, but he said I’d find out soon enough but not from him. I’d say you have a good friend there, but to be honest-”

He experimentally moves his arm. “The ex-wife with the nieces and nephew I told you about? They loved this movie. It was a surefire way to get about two hours worth of peace and keep the phone safe. There was this villain named Iago, like from the Lion King? That’s who O’Reily reminds me of.”

Above him, there are giggles, but they quickly end.

“I’m guessing the movie was Othello. Iago the Disney character is from Aladdin. Sorry. Yeah, I made that connection, too. Sort of. It was floating around in my head.”

He waits.

“I’ll tell you the story later. Not right now.”

“Okay,” he agrees. “We got time. By the way, thanks again.”

…

He’s close to dozing off when gasps and shaking from the top bunk snap him fully awake.

“Beecher?” Getting out of bed, he sees Beecher quietly shaking. “Alright, look, earlier when you took my pain away? I’m not a shifter, but this is sort of like that, okay? Nothing else.”

Tentatively, he places his hand on Beecher’s sweaty forehead, and if Beecher were human, he’d be worried about a high fever. As it is, even knowing lycanthropes tend to naturally run hot, he’s not sure Beecher might not be sick.

There’s a moment of tension, but then, he makes out Beecher’s body relaxing.

“Here, I’m moving my hand.” Trailing it down, he finds Beecher’s shirt is a little damp, but it’s not bad enough Beecher needs to change. Bringing it back up to Beecher’s neck, he gives a small squeeze. “Anything you need?”

“No,” is the small reply. “Thanks, Keller.”

With another squeeze, he goes back down to his bunk.

Beecher gets down to piss and wash his face.

“How many times were you married?”

Glancing over, he sees Beecher is watching him in the mirror.

“Three,” he automatically answers. “I mean, no. Four. I married Bonnie twice. Three wives, four marriages.”

“Any kids?”

“Not that I know of. You have three, right?”

Sitting in the chair near the door, Beecher nods. “Keller- You should try to get moved to O’Reily’s. Shakespearian villain or not, that would be better for both of us.”

He’d expected something like this, but he’s surprised at the fact he feels hurt now that it’s happening.

“I’ve been here less than a week.”

Based on Beecher’s helpless shrug, Beecher might have been expecting a different reaction.

He’s never begged on a con, and he never will. And if Beecher was expecting anger- he can work with that. It says some disturbing things, and in some ways, it indicates he hasn’t been doing this as good as he thought, but there’s still time.

“What exactly is your issue with me, Beecher? If this is about the first time you had a nightmare, I really wasn’t trying anything. I get jerked out of my sleep in the middle of the night, and there’s this sorry bastard sounding like he was dying. I ever claim selflessness, shanking me might be a fair response, but reaching out to try to figure out what in the hell was going on, seeing if you were bleeding, trying to ground you- all that is a pretty normal reaction, if you ask me. Whatever made you crazy, it wasn’t me.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Beecher agrees. “That would be Vern.”

He props himself up on his elbows.

The story spills out.

He hadn’t noticed the tattoo, and this helps. Vern had told him, of course, about the tattoo burned in with one of the most scarring forms of wolfsbane out there, the kind that, once it’s in a shifter’s system, it might never fully leave, especially in a mountain ash-lined place like Oz, but when Beecher comes over to lower his underwear just enough to show it-

Part of him is tempted to touch it.

Yeah, Beecher would really freak, then.

A long time ago, he knew these two little girls. One was Muslim, and the other called herself agnostic. The latter wore a swastika necklace all the time, and he hadn’t particularly cared. What he’d said to Beecher about not caring what others believe is mostly true.

However, she wore glasses and had dark brown hair and eyes so dark they looked black in the right light, and he did occasionally have the sardonic thought she’d’ve been in one of the concentration camps if she’d lived in Germany back then along with more uncomfortable musings on why she might spend so much time with a dusky brown girl with kinky black hair that, whenever she wore a scarf over her head, refused to stay fully underneath.

For the longest time, he thought the Muslim girl was an idiot with a schoolgirl crush on the worst choice imaginable.

And well, in some ways, she was, but it turned out: The Muslim girl’s grandmother had been a Hindu. The necklace had been hers, and every day, her granddaughter would put it on her agnostic friend’s neck. She knew her best friend didn’t believe in or worship any gods, and so, she didn’t put her own crescent moon-and-star necklace on the other girl.

Instead, she put faith in her dead grandmother to protect the other girl.

Of course, the other girl didn’t have any more faith in a dead woman than she did in any gods found in old books, but she did love her friend. She wore it to make her happy.

He never would have thought he could find a swastika beautiful, but after that- it was cute. Sweet.

This didn’t stop the fact his thoughts changed to thinking the grandmother herself might be a danger to the agnostic girl if she were still alive; as far he knew, Hindus weren’t down with girl-on-girl outside of porn anymore than Muslims were, and the little Muslim girl really didn’t make it a secret how much she felt more than just friendship every time the other girl so much as entered a room.

He never wants to find out whatever happened to those two, but for that moment in time, he had a little bit easier of a time seeing the good in people.

Maybe that agnostic girl had a right to the symbol. The friend who put it on her sure as hell did. He’d learned the Hindus had the swastikas as a symbol of things like peace and luck rather than concentration camps for a long time before Hitler got ahold of it.

The brand on Beecher’s bottom is anything but beautiful. It’s ugly. Painful.

The fact Vern’s gotten worse doesn’t surprise him.

Toby pulls up his underwear.

“All this prag stuff is bullshit,” he almost says ‘Toby’, “Beecher. It’s not going away anytime soon, but it’s bullshit.”

Again, he reiterates his hatred of laundry. “So, if I ever manage to beat you at chess, you’re doing it. But I’ve never raped anyone. Not going to start with the crazy werewolf.”

Beecher’s voice is genuinely curious, “Do you even know how to play chess?”

“Not a clue. That’s why, when I manage to cheat O’Reily at cards and he ends up doing it, you’re not going to snitch, or I’ll get a wolfsbane coated shank.”

“You’re not going to out-cheat O’Reily.”

“Not if you snitch, no.”

Letting out a quiet laugh, Beecher gets back on his bunk. “You two might make good friends.”

Not if he really cares about you, goes through his head.

It doesn’t matter. He’d back Vern against the Irish any day. Hopefully, O’Reily doesn’t do more than just like Beecher. ‘Like’ doesn’t mean anything in places like Oz. Real caring goes beyond, and he’d bet a lot O’Reily doesn’t feel that way towards Beecher.

“Do you like men?”

The question is calm enough he’s pretty sure it isn’t a trap.

“I like sex. It’s great when it’s with someone I like. Care about. Especially if I know they feel the same. But other than that, you do certain things with your body, let someone else do certain things with your body, you get good feelings. You do certain things to theirs, they feel good. If you’re determined to label me, I’m bisexual. But if I weren’t, having sex to get something, it happens more than most people want to admit.”

“The last one’s true,” Beecher says.

Above him, Beecher stretches out on his bed.

“Schillinger isn’t going to stop. There are people besides him who wouldn’t be opposed to seeing me dead. I don’t have anything against you, Keller. That’s why I think you should find a different podmate.”

“Give it time. You’ll find something about me you hate. Trust me, I got three ex-wives, two girlfriends I lived with, and a partner I did more than just hustle cons with who’ll all tell you life with me can be anything but rosy. I’m sure there’s something that’ll bother me more than your nightmares and crazy rhymes. Let’s see what these things are, and then, we’ll decide if we want to keep being roommates, okay?”

“This is prison,” he adds. “In case you haven’t noticed, everyone has enemies, someone who wants them dead. Schillinger wants your ass, and Mack ain’t gonna stop being a bitch about his broken nose anytime soon.”

There’s silence, and then, a small, “Okay.”

If Beecher doesn’t end up dead, if Beecher ever talks to him after Vern’s done, Beecher will accuse him of being a liar, and he won’t be able to argue against this.

He will be able to say: I did warn you.

…

“How are things with your new cellmate, Tobias,” Sister Pete asks.

He can honestly answer, “They’re fine,” and this is a bigger relief than he realised it would be. “Keller’s interesting. He talks a lot.”

“And this is okay with you?”

“Yeah. He’s- I don’t think he’s a bad guy, sister. Shooting that store clerk was probably the stupidest thing he’s ever done, the absolute biggest mistake of his entire life, and I don’t know what got him to that point, but otherwise- he just doesn’t see eye-to-eye with society on most things, and he’s the fearless sort.”

“It sounds as if you like him.”

He’s not sure how to respond to that.

Saying, ‘I haven’t been having as many nightmares,’ is out.

“I haven’t found a reason to dislike him yet,” he settles for.

…

At lunch, he really doesn’t want to end up getting stabbed with a plastic spork (ironically, this would be less of a concern if they were allowed plastic knives this week), and so, quickly getting his mystery meat broken into manageable pieces, he switches his tray with Keller’s as casually as he can manage.

“Thanks,” is the sour reply.

This is fine. Keller is eating rather than positioning his spork to attack someone.

“I thought that Mick guard was McManus’s dog, but was I wrong? Does he have something going on with O’Reily?”

He’d also prefer it if no one else decided to stab him for being near Keller, but he should probably just accept that there’s a good chance the next week or two will be nothing but finger foods.

“Are you talking about Murphy?”

Thankfully, Murphy isn’t in the cafeteria right now.

Not bothering to answer, Keller gripes, “He’s been following me around like I-”

Seeing Murphy has walked in, he kicks Chris.

Making a vague motion with the spork, which would be much more threatening if it wasn’t coated in mashed potatoes, Chris glares before going back to eating his food. “I will steal your sweatshirt, Harvard boy.”

He’s been doing Chris’s laundry, because, Chris has realised, if Chris doesn’t do it, his nose will break long before Chris’s does. This is fine since he doesn’t mind doing laundry and this is similar to the normal roommate power-play bullshit he was exposed to and participated in during college rather than anything like Vern did, but it does bring to mind the question, “How do you know I have a Harvard sweatshirt, and why do you think- what exactly do you think stealing it would accomplish?”

The truth is, he still loves that old sweatshirt. If Vern ever got his hands on it- but he isn’t afraid of Keller doing anything. Sure, if Keller is touchy enough at lunch, he might stab someone with a plastic spork, but otherwise, he doesn’t give the impression of being one to settle for petty. If he’s going to screw someone over, he’s going to go big.

“He still here?”

“Yeah.” And he’s studying them intently. “You didn’t happen to-”

Then again, Keller stealing his (small black blob of cardboard with a vague amount of sugar or artificial sweetener mixed in) brownie somewhat strikes a blow against the idea of non-pettiness.

“Here.”

To his surprise, Keller roughly shoves an apple over at him.

“Thanks?”

“O’Reily’s the only one I’ve really been around today. Turns out...” Keller goes into a rant about the card game he and O’Reily had earlier. “Don’t the hacks have other things to do than trying to find out if I’m cheating at a...”

A thought starts to form in his head: Keller’s work assignment won’t come in until the cast is off. He might have spent most of the morning trying to out-cheat O’Reily, but he’s spent several nights locked in a pod with him.

Murphy was off dealing with a family emergency when he (Beecher) first came to Oz, and he didn’t get things sorted there until after Vern had already been dealt with.

Poor Murphy, he really does feel for the guy sometimes. McManus is a joke, but Murphy is determined to keep his friend’s project running smoothly.

For all Murphy doesn’t want the crazy werewolf in a pod with a permanently disabled human, he seems to genuinely feel bad about the whole Vern situation.

Technically, Keller is disabled, but he won’t be for long. Unlike Hill, he has a fair chance of handling himself against others, even crazy werewolves.

“Hey, asshole,” is the only warning he gets before Chris is smacking the back of his head.

It startles him, his eyes probably flashed by how fast Murphy is moving, but spinning Keller’s tray around to distract him, he waves Murphy away with the other and a quick shake of his head.

“And I’d do a better job of pretending to-”

“I was listening. O’Reily tries that trick on everyone he plays with. He has a similar move when it comes to chess, too.”

Giving him a suspicious look, Keller is nevertheless mollified enough to go back to expanding on how he will beat O’Reily next time, and thankfully, Murphy has withdrawn.

By the time lunch is over, Keller seems to have forgotten about Murphy, at least, temporarily, and has set his spork down on the empty plate.

“Thanks for the apple.”

“No problem.” Keller gives him a half-grin. “Uh, sorry for-”

“Don’t worry about it. Everyone gets irritable after they start really settling in.”

…

After he leaves Keller and O’Reily alone with a checkers board (he takes no responsibility if a game he can play blindfolded results in one or both of their deaths), he goes to the station Murphy’s manning.

Getting another hack to take over, Murphy takes him to the empty visiting room, and they sit.

“Keller’s been fine so far. He hasn’t tried anything.”

Murphy doesn’t try to hide his scepticism. “And at lunch?”

He almost laughs. “Oh, c’mon, Murphy. He was irritable about cards with O’Reily not going the way he planned and frustrated at the lack of something to properly cut his food with. By the way, when are we getting knives back?”

“I’m still working on that. After last week’s incident, McManus isn’t being unreasonable.” Murphy looks as if he privately doubts this, and this confirms McManus had some much bigger ideas than taking plastic knives away that Murphy had to talk him out of.

“Speaking of him, how many times have you and McManus whacked one another upside the head? It startled me, yes, but I can honestly say I didn’t even really feel it.”

There’s a nod, but he realises this is more than- “What’s got you worried, Murphy? If it’s about me, I promise, Keller hasn’t done anything close to what Vern did. I’m clean. I’ve even- mentally, I am a lot more stable than I was even a month ago.”

He can tell Murphy is focusing his senses on discovering if anyone else is nearby.

“A guard saw something. After lights out, Keller was sitting up in his bunk, and you were pulling up your underwear. It- sometimes, even in the middle of the night, people gotta use the can, but the thing was, it looked like you might have been much closer to Keller than the toilet.”

He should have realised a guard had passed by at that particular moment. The fact he didn’t is genuinely worrying.

However, pushing that aside, he nods. “Yeah. Here’s the truth, I promise: I had a nightmare, we talked, and the subject of Vern came up. I showed him my mark. We talked some more, and then, we fell back asleep. Or I did. I’m assuming he did, too.”

“And that’s all?”

Nodding, he repeats, “Promise.”

For a moment, Murphy looks relieved, but then, some of the doubt comes back. “He seems to like you.”

“Maybe he does. But he hasn’t shown any interest in me like that. He likes to talk. To have attention on him. I don’t mind listening to him.”

“Okay,” Murphy says. “But if he does start to be a problem, tell me right away, Beecher. I would have done something about Schillinger if I’d been here.”

Part of him really believes this. “Yeah, I know. Don’t worry, Murphy. I don’t think there are going to be any real problems between me and Keller.”

…

Murphy knows that too many kids who fit a certain criteria end up being unfairly tried as an adult.

He believes in the sealing of juvenile records, and he’d usually agree with the idea Lardner prison had of sealing their filing of every minor who got out before or by their 25th birthday.

Whether this makes him a hypocrite or not, he’s less supportive when it makes _his_ job harder.

Keller has been in-and-out of jails since he was 23. When he was 17, he was convicted as an adult for assault and battery and sent to Lardner.

Schillinger was there at around that time, but he doesn’t know what to make of this. Lardner is bigger than Oz. It has more units, and none of them were like Em City. He doesn’t know where Keller was put or even how long he stayed in Lardner.

As for Schillinger, his file from there is much shorter than his here. He got a month in solitary for a fight with another inmate. A black prisoner got three months for attacking him. He refused to eat whenever cheese oatmeal was served at breakfast.

“Tim, I think Schillinger and that new guy, Keller, might have been in Lardner together. Maybe, you should move Keller out of Beecher’s cell.”

Frowning, Tim asks, “You think?”

He explains.

“I don’t get the impression Keller’s a Nazi.”

He represses a sigh.

In truth, he doesn’t, either. But-

“Neither was Beecher, Tim, and yet, Schillinger exerted a bizarre sort of control over him. A seventeen-year-old kid in an adult prison, someone older takes them under their wing, that could produce a deep loyalty. Schillinger is a lot of things, but dumb and unimaginative isn’t part of them.”

“He’s cunning, but I wouldn’t call him imaginative,” Tim sniffs.

Affection rolls through him. “Yeah, you have a point. Look, moving pods isn’t a punishment in itself. Move Keller in with one of the Irish. He and O’Reily get along. Let Beecher stay alone for a little longer.”

He’s not sure who would be the safest choice for Beecher, but it’s not a guy Beecher could kill in under a minute or someone who might have an alliance with Beecher’s biggest tormentor.

“Beecher seems to be doing better.”

“Moving Keller isn’t going to make him backslide.”

“No, but it could halt the progress. I think the two could be good for one another, Sean.”

Damn it, Tim’s not going to move him, he realises.

As much as he hates doing things like this, maybe, he can convince O’Reily to do something to get Keller moved.

“Look, if you can find any concrete indication Keller might be a threat to Beecher, I’ll have them separated. Okay?”

“That’s fair. Thanks, Tim.”

He wonders if he should talk to Beecher again. Tell him about the possibility of Keller and Schillinger knowing one another.

…

“Where’s your head, Keller?” O’Reily asks.

That damn hack, Murphy, is watching them. Or more specifically: Him.

“Tell me, is it you or Beech, Murphy is so sweet on?”

Beecher’s kick was gentler.

“Most of us like Murphy,” O’Reily says. “He can be a hardass, but his word is solid. Besides, he’s good at handling McManus.”

“Well, what in the hell did I do to get on his radar so fast?”

Dealing a hand, O’Reily asks, “Heard anything about Beecher?”

“I saw the mark.”

“Huh.” Finishing dealing, O’Reily says, “Outside of glimpses in the showers, I don’t think I ever have. But then, I’ve never had any interest in seeing it.”

He chooses to ignore this.

“Murphy wasn’t here when Beecher got here. His grandma was dying, then, when she did, he had to fight like hell to keep his baby cousin from ending up in a place like this. If he were, I really think a lot of what ole Vern did wouldn’t have happened. He didn’t like a wheelchair-bound human in with crazy Beecher, but I guess he’s worried about Beecher this time now.”

“For Christ sake, I had a disagreement with a Nazi ‘bout five minutes after I got here, and aside from our friendly games, I haven’t had anymore with anyone else.”

O’Reily shrugs. “He’s not like McManus, but if you deserve a chance, Murphy will give it to ya. Give it time. You don’t screw over Beecher, and he’ll relax.”

He almost asks about second chances, but he’s not going to need one. Beecher will either end up dead or broken, and he won’t go down for it. If Murphy suspects, well, the hack won’t have any proof.

…

After Toby’s done in Sister’s Pete office, O’Reily says, “Hey, you up for a chess game?”

“Yeah, sure.” He gets the board, and O’Reily puts up the cards he was playing solitaire with. “Keller around?”

O’Reily rolls his eyes. “He’s in the infirmary.”

Concern- he tries not to be. He wasn’t in anyway responsible for whatever happened.

“Don’t worry, he’s not the one with- Actually, he does have that broken arm, but it’s not his that got him there. The Aryans were picking on one of the Christians, that redhead with the mismatched eyes, and when he hit his arm, he started howling so loud I’m surprised you didn’t hear it. Keller punched the Aryan in the stomach, and then, helped the Christian go to the infirmary.”

“He in trouble for the stomach punch?”

“Murphy was tempted, but no.”

He understands. For all Murphy doesn’t trust Keller and for all Murphy is sometimes content to throw anyone who fights into the hole without a thought, Murphy can’t help but have a soft spot for people either genuinely fighting back or who are fighting for the little guy.

McManus probably wasn’t bullied much as a kid, but if anyone ever tried to touch him, it wouldn’t have been his parents contacting theirs they’d have to worry about, and probably, the Murphys wouldn’t have been able to help being proud of their manifesting coyote protecting their little human.

Now, if they knew Murphy would be on his knees in a second if McManus ever pulled his head out of his ass enough to realise this was an option, they may not be so proud, but-

Getting his head back in the game, he asks, “How’s Cyril doing?”

“Good. According to Aunt Brenda, that school you found is doing him a world of good. Your kids?”

“Holly ran over some neighbourhood boy’s remote control car when he wouldn’t stop chasing her and Gary.”

O’Reily nods approvingly.

“Gary’s doing better. He lost his last baby tooth. And Harry’s almost completely on solids now.”

“The tooth fairy come for your boy?”

“Yeah.”

…

“This should be ready to come off in two days,” Dr Nathan says. “Your other hand is okay?”

“It’s all good, doc.”

“I’ll take him back,” Murphy says.

Showtime, goes through his head.

They leave.

“Did you know Schillinger before you came here?”

He’s surprised Murphy is diving straight in, and this is good. Surprise can be used to cover the tells of a lie. “No.”

“He was in Lardner when you were.”

“What’s this about, Officer Murphy? Which one are you worried about me having fun with? Beecher or O’Reily? It’s already been made clear they’re both straight. And even if Beecher weren’t, he’s-”

“This is about Schillinger would do anything to bring Beecher down, including calling in old favours and loyalties from new arrivals.”

Before he can respond, Murphy stops him. “I’m a werecoyote, Keller. I know where your mind is going. I don’t care when people like Schillinger are transferred out, but prisoners like Beecher, if they can be kept relatively safe, they make Unit Manager McManus look good.”

“Right.” Even knowing it’s probably a bad idea, he can’t keep from chuckling. “And you’re his, aren’t ya?”

Murphy sighs. “It’s no secret I’m gay, Keller. I don’t go for inmates, and Tim McManus and I were in diapers together. Best man at his wedding, owe being an AB student to him, and if anyone ever comes at him while I’m around, you can bet your ass I’ll be putting myself in front of him.”

He hates people who will be honest about everything under the sun but their own feelings. They do something wrong, they’ll confess. They find a thousand bucks in an envelope, they’ll turn it in. If someone’s going to kill them for telling the truth, there they go, telling the truth.

Other things, though: How do you really feel about having a black family in your neighbourhood, are you sure you don’t mind the inconvenience, are you so in love with your childhood friend that one kiss, one blowjob, one night of just sleeping beside them in bed might permanently change your entire life?- They’re the biggest liars around, but no one who calls them on it is listened to.

“I spent most of my time at Lardner in solitary. Most of the Aryans left me alone.”

He can see Murphy isn’t sure whether this is true or not, but he also knows his vitals and chemo signals are sending the message it is.

“Let’s go,” Murphy says.

They resume walking.

“Hey, I like Beecher. He’s interesting. I don’t want to hurt him.”

As soon as the words are out, he realises they’re true.

This isn’t good, except, seeing Murphy relax even more reminds him: Real surprise can help sell a lie or a con.

…

Clapping hands with Ryan, Chris asks, “Playing for stakes?”

“Nah, Beecher here’s too afraid.”

“I’m winning, you asshole.”

“Well, you won’t be for much longer.”

Laughing, Chris slings an arm over the back of Toby’s chair when he sits down.

Tensing, Toby uses his foot to push Chris’s chair a little further away, and giving a small shrug, Chris removes the arm.

Looking over, Toby gives Chris a concerned look. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I was smart enough to punch with my good hand. So, how do I tell for myself which of you is winning?”

…

“Hey, Beecher, help me out here.”

Looking up from his book, he sees Keller has managed to get trapped within his own shirt.

“Alright.” Sliding down, he comes over. “Be still.”

They get the shirt off, and tapping his arm, Keller says, “Thanks. Good news is I’ll finally have this off in two days.” He starts on his pants. “Any wrestlers here? Down in Pattersonville, I had this buddy who’d kick my ass in boxing every time I kicked his on the mat.”

Scoffing, Keller continues, “As if being able to hit someone and avoid being hit takes any real skill. Now, wrestling, that requires strength. Lot more skill than being able to move fast and punch hard. Gotta get the feel of your opponent’s body quick.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” He climbs back onto his bunk. “O’Reily would know.”

“He wrestle?”

“I don’t know.”

Down below, Keller settles on his bunk.

“You know what time she’ll take it off?”

“Whenever a hack comes to get me. Tell you what, though, if they haven’t come an hour before lights out, I’m getting to the infirmary myself.”

“Is Pattersonville where you learned to wrestle?”

“It’s where I really got into it. First time I remember wrestling, I was...”

…

On the day Keller’s scheduled to get his cast off, Toby wakes up to find Keller in an extremely good mood.

He’s happy for him, but also, he will never be a morning person. Holly is the only one who was, and he and Gen definitely relied on the TV more than they should have.

He wonders if Harry has taken after her or them. Will he soon be trotting after his sister every morning to get bread covered in peanut butter and jam (she knew how to use the toaster and would make toast for others, but she’s never liked toast herself), or will he be a challenge for Gen and others to get up? He has vague memories of Gen chattering about her morning exploits with Gary, but he’d been content to let her deal with it even when she was constantly fighting nausea due to her pregnancy with Harry.

“Hey, two nights without a nightmare, that’s great.” Keller squeezes his shoulder, and he realises yeah, this is right. He hasn’t had any nightmares lately.

Suddenly, he feels a lot more cheerful, too.

In the cafeteria, one look at the baked oatmeal, lump of bacon, and congealed eggs has Keller declaring, “I’m skipping breakfast.”

“Eat your breakfast,” he orders.

“Nah, I think I’ll-” Pausing in his movement to pick it up, Keller studies the tray. “Thanks,” he quietly says.

He nods. “Are you going to need to do anything after the cast is removed?”

“No. Doc told me my wrist would be skinnier than normal and probably a little sore, but it was a clean break, and the jail I was being held at before sentencing did a good job at setting it and all that. Think I’ll find O’Reily afterwards.”

Rolling his eyes, he doesn’t respond. It turns out, whereas, accusations of cheating at card games can have both Keller and O’Reily glaring and snapping at one another, the debate of whether wrestling or boxing is the worthier, more legitimate sport required him to literally get in between the two before they turned shoving into an all-out brawl.

Luckily, none of the hacks had been around when this happened.

…

Sister Pete’s gone for the day, but she left instructions.

As soon as he gets through with organising the newest batch of files, he goes out to see Keller laying out his thoughts on this new trend of teenagers getting cell phones (he must have tried calling his ex-wife earlier and gotten her oldest niece instead) to a hack and a prisoner; the latter’s expression makes it clear, if not for being handcuffed to the bench, he would have slipped away from this conversation ages ago.

This guy probably doesn’t have any kids. Really listening, he decides he should probably bring up some of what Keller is saying to Genevieve the next time they talk. Holly’s going to be nearing teenagerhood before he has any possibility of getting out, and he knows what his grandmother would say, but there’s a reason he and Gen limited her contact with the kids before all this happened.

The prisoner spots him, and following his eyes, so does Keller.

“Beecher!”

Suddenly, Keller’s arms are around him, and freezing, he represses his instincts enough to simply wiggle out of the arms and move Keller away with a tiny push rather than an outright shove.

Part of him regrets this once all contact is gone.

“Are you done with Sister Pete? I’m hitting the gym.”

He almost tells Keller to go alone, but then, he wonders if any of the Aryans will be there today. If so, Dr Nathan might end up putting a cast right back on Keller.

“Let’s go,” he says.

…

Keller’s done time for assault and battery, armed robbery, stealing a car, and finally, felony murder, two counts of attempted murder, assault with a deadly weapon, robbery, driving under the influence, and reckless driving. Nothing in there about cons, and from their short time together, it’s clear he’s not the Machiavellian type O’Reily is.

However, as soon as the words are out of his mouth agreeing he will wrestle with Keller, he knows for sure Keller was telling the truth about having pulled a con or two in his life.

What’s he going to do, break your arms and legs in the middle of the gym, the part of him that’s tired of all the anxiety and mistrust constantly rolling inside of him reasonably points out.

“So, you’ve never wrestled before?”

“Well, I mean, once. In high school, before I had fully manifested.” He still remembers the snap of Arthur Wiener’s leg breaking when Tad Lefkofsky landed on it wrong.

“Well, we’ll make sure nothing of yours snaps.”

His logical side can go-

Keller is a man, and yes, he knew his podmate was a man, imagine that, a man is sentenced to a male prison, but Keller is all man. He’s strong, his scent, masculine, fills every sense, and Toby’s not afraid of broken bones right now, he’s afraid of the tightness in his stomach, the persistent warmth flowing on and underneath his skin, the cotton in his mouth.

He’s always called himself straight. He had his first crush on a girl when he was six, he had his first girlfriend when he was ten, and he was eighteen when he met Gen. Twenty-one when they decided to be exclusive. Soft curves, shiny hair, sinking into soft, warm heat, he’s never given much thought to the male body. Until he discovered masturbation, his own penis never excited him, never mind anyone else’s, and he was sometimes jealous of well-muscled guys, but it was jealousy, not desire to touch.

Then again, he’s always formed emotional connections more easily with girls and women than men.

After Vern, however, if there was any possibility he might be bisexual with a stronger preference towards women, it doesn’t matter anymore. He’s never going to do anything with another man. After he gets out, if he can’t make things work with Gen, he’ll stay sober, rebuild his life, and maybe, someday, find a nice woman who will be willing to see pass his past and be a good stepmother to the kids.

Shirtless, bare skin pressed against bare skin, Keller is underneath him, his arms and hands are holding Keller down, and calm blue eyes are looking up at him with a hint of something deeper.

He has the urge to kiss the lips beneath him.

Trying not to scramble, he gets up, and when Chris accepts his hand, he tries not to tremble as he pulls him up.

How it the hell do you always manage to get yourself in these situations, Tobias, goes through his head.

“I’m done for the day. I’m going to go back to the pod.”

Nodding, Keller says, “Better hit the showers first.” Practically bouncing, he radiates excitement when he declares, “Finally, I don’t have to bother with that plastic.”

He almost insists no, he won’t be going to the showers, but then: Does he want to be trapped in a small room smelling like this? And if Chris decides not to shower because he’s not, does he want to be trapped with Chris smelling like this?

“Yeah, okay.”

…

Gary took to chess pretty fast, and Holly had been more interested in making up stories about the chess pieces.

God, he should have been patient. He should have listened. Once, he’d made some stupid, sexist crack, and he still remembers the look of hurt and anger in her eyes.

Of course, he wasn’t much, if any, better with Gary. He’d taught him how to play, and then, over the years, he was almost always too busy or drunk or both to set aside time for a game.

“You know this is a stupid-ass game,” Keller declares.

There’s probably no hope for teaching him, but after he almost got them both shanked in the showers, anything that will keep him inside the pod until lunch-

“Will you just give it a chance?”

Keller is decent at checkers, and apparently, he’s decided rather than listening to the rules, he’ll do what he would if this were a checkers match.

At Keller’s assertion there are too many rules, he can’t help but counter, “And like wrestling doesn’t have too many?”

The smell of Murphy and McManus together triggers his nose, and he hopes Keller’s ex-wives and the nieces and nephew of that one is okay. The bad news is probably for him, not Keller, though, he can’t think of what this news could possibly be, but if it’s not-

Knocking on the opened door, McManus says, “Beecher, I need to talk to you.”

Utterly amused, Chris leans back. “Uh-oh. What’d you do wrong?”

I’m not the one who almost got us shanked, he almost points out.

But he knows better. This isn’t about that.

“Nothing. If you do something wrong, you’re summoned to McManus’s office. He comes to deliver bad news.” Looking at McManus, he asks, “What’s up?”

“Yep. Keller, come on,” Murphy says.

“He can stay,” he says.

Physically hauling Keller up, Murphy repeats, “Come on, Keller.”

This really isn’t good, hits him.

Murphy squeezes McManus’s shoulder as he pulls Keller out, and seeing Murphy signal, the pod door closes.

…

“What’s going on?” Chris demands.

He tries to turn to look in the pod, but Murphy’s grip is strong. “It doesn’t concern you. Don’t get yourself thrown in the hole.”

“For what, caring about my friend?” Finally getting turned around, his view is nevertheless mostly blocked. “C’mon, Murphy, I don’t need to be a shifter to know something big is going down. You left human McManus, your best friend, alone in a shut pod with a werewolf who isn’t exactly the most stable,” he uses a colourful term, “around, but-” He peers closely. “You feel bad about Beecher. For him. That’s why you didn’t haul him to McManus before he could come down to him.”

Murphy sighs, and finally managing to look past, he feels his heart reacting painfully in his chest.

Toby looks- broken.

Did Vern do something, he wonders.

If not, he’ll have to use this. Whatever it is, he’ll have to use it to get closer, mess with Toby’s head even worse.

…

Hoping Keller doesn’t get thrown in the hole, Toby focuses on McManus.

There’s so much grief pouring off him that, if he didn’t know Murphy’s obviously fine and McManus wouldn’t come to him about someone else close to McManus being sick or dying, he’d think this was the case.

“What’s going on?”

“Your wife is in critical care. She tried to kill herself.”

“What? No. I heard you. What?”

“She locked herself in the garage, left the car running.”

Genevieve wouldn’t do this. She’s- “And the kids?”

“They’re fine.” McManus subtly winces. “They found her, and they called 911. They were checked out at the hospital, and they’re with your family.”

“I wanna see my kids.”

…

Keller is good at being calm despite the anger, confusion, and helplessness buzzing strongly inside him.

He doesn’t think Murphy told Chris what happened.

“Alright.” Keller sits down. “What’s going on, Beech?”

“My kids are coming tomorrow.”

“Okay. Well, that’s good, ain’t it?” There’s genuine hope in Keller’s chemo signs. “I know you probably don’t want me to meet them, but I got a buddy in Unit B, I can score some ice-cream. Don’t think I can get anything but vanilla, but you get soda from the machine and a candy bar, sweet talk Sister Pete into microwaving it for a few seconds, and they can have coke floats or sundaes.”

Looking at the sincere eyes, the hopeful, almost soft look, the expression of a person _trying_ \- Great, his wife is dying, and he’s in the middle of a sexuality crisis.

“Their mother, my wife, Genevieve, she tried to kill herself. They found her. Now, she’s in critical, I’m in jail, prison, and Christ almighty, Holly isn’t even ten. Harry isn’t walking yet. And Gary- God, he’s always been her little boy. I asked about a note. McManus didn’t know. He’s going to try to find out. I sure as- I can’t ask them if Mommy left a note.”

He wishes he could reach over to pull some of Chris’s calm into himself.

Focusing on his breathing, he leans forward, and covering his eyes with his hand, he tries to let his senses latch onto something neutral.

He hears Chris moving, and there’s hands, rough in texture but gentle in touch, on his arm and the back of his neck, and the cool press of Chris’s forehead against his- He latches onto the breathing. He latches onto the mostly steady heartbeat.

As his starts to synch up, he realises this isn’t good. Keller’s been a good friend so far, but his entire family is suffering, and he’s-

Sprinting up, he kicks and swats at the chess board before going to the wall, and Keller’s surprised but not scared, and he vaguely hears others being verbally guided away while Keller leans back on his bunk.

…

If Keller didn’t have sympathy for him, he wouldn’t have threatened to go try to contact Sister Pete with the news if he (Toby) didn’t come to lunch.

He’s feeling a very distinct lack of sympathy, however. All he wanted was to sit alone in the quiet on his bed.

“Finish half your sandwich, and I’ll leave you alone about the rest.”

“I ate the peaches.”

“Good. Now get some bread, dairy, and meat in you, and that’ll be good for now.”

He almost makes a quip about Chris being a nutritionist on the outside.

Instead, he manages to eat half of the sandwich.

…

It wasn’t Vern. If Vern had done this, Mrs Beecher would be dead for sure.

Still, Vern is going to imply it was, and doubt will set into Beecher.

Up above him, To- Beecher sleeps, and he truly doesn’t want a nightmare to come. If Beecher can sleep through tonight, it’ll be a near miracle.

But if one is going to come, he wishes it’d hurry.

A primal scream tears through, Beecher probably has being a werewolf to thank for not landing on his face, and the meagre amount of food he got shoved down Beecher earlier makes a reappearance in the toilet.

He can’t help the sigh that comes out.

Got a job to do, he reminds himself.

“Alright. It’s okay.” Getting out of bed, he fills Beecher’s cup up with water before grabbing one of the clothes from the laundry pile. “Easy, Beecher. I’m going to come down there.”

Lowering himself to the floor, he tugs until Beecher is sitting against the wall. “Take a sip, and spit.”

Crying silently, Beecher follows his instructions.

After the taste of vomit is hopefully all gone, he tosses the clothes away. When he puts an arm over Beecher’s shoulders, Beecher twists a little but otherwise stays still.

“I’m being serious here: You’re a good father. If you argue, I’ll dunk your head into that toilet. Sure, you aren’t a great one. Don’t think most men are. But- you waited until you found someone you wanted ta spend the rest of your life with, waited until you could take care of them to have them, and you didn’t beat them. Then, yeah, you really screwed up getting yourself thrown in here, but the fact you worry about them, the fact you’re sorry, the fact you really will try to make everything better, right, when you get out, all that means something.”

He’s been sincere with marks before, but it’s never hurt this bad.

“It doesn’t mean anything if Genevieve dies.”

“Of course, it does. Look, I want your wife to pull through, and I’d really rather not be punched by a crazy werewolf, but either she’s too sick to be held responsible, or she made a horrible choice. A choice worse than any of yours. She was free, and she chose to try to permanently leave them. No judge sentenced her. A person having to pay for what they did, that’s a hell of a difference between someone deciding they’re going to leave their dead body for their two little kids to find.”

Sniffling, Beecher wipes his eyes. “Genevieve is- she had anxiety, but she’s a calm, rational person. Incredible under pressure. More than that, though, she is a kind woman. She loves the kids more than anything.”

“Anxiety can spiral,” he says. “Look, if you love her, if you believe the best in her, then, believe that there was always a chance of her mind breaking. Husband goes to jail, three little kids, the things in her brain that caused her anxiety, they went into overdrive, and your wife, the mother of your children, wasn’t behind the wheel. Wasn’t her sitting in that garage.”

“If she pulls through, medication, therapy, that woman will come back. And I hope your kids will understand someday, but if they don’t, once they get grown, you’ve done what you can.”

Beside him, Beecher slumps.

He knows sex wouldn’t help right now. He knows it might undo all progress just to even offer it.

But- he wishes it would. Forget the con for a minute, if a blowjob, lying on his stomach, anything would give Beecher some pleasure, take some of this pain away, he’d do it.

Beecher lets out a shaky breath. “Thanks, Keller.”

“Hey, I’m not going nowhere.” He squeezes Beecher’s neck. “What else can I do right now?”

“Nothing. Thanks.” Getting up, Beecher pulls him along. “I’m going to try to get some more sleep.”

…

“I heard Beecher refused to see his kids,” Vern crones.

His first instinct is that he’s going to kill Beecher, he’s going to punch him in the face, steal his sweater, and then, sit on him until Sister Pete comes back.

He knows this instinct isn’t good.

He doesn’t want to truly hurt Beecher so much as he’s not going to let Beecher hurt himself.

Except, that’s the whole plan, you moron, goes through his head.

Right. And Vern is a nasty piece of work, but he does literally owe Vern his life. Beecher should have been smarter, stronger, from the beginning; he should have handled Vern better.

“I can definitely work with that.” Keeping his voice casual, he asks, “But in order to do my best I need to know: Do you want him dead or not?”

“Eventually, yes. But we aren’t going to kill him. I got some of that gold wolfsbane.” He spins a plan of breaking Beecher’s legs and arms. The wolfsbane will take months to fully be purged, and even once it is, Beecher’s whole body, not just his arms and legs, might be weak, his werewolf abilities forever diminished.

He’d like to think Toby- Beecher is tough enough that all that along with the humiliation and heartbreak and attack on his sanity worse than his wife ever went through won’t bring him down, but if it does, it does.

If Vern was going to kill Beecher outright- there are dangerous thoughts of going to Murphy and McManus, but he wouldn’t. Someone else’s life, someone he’s never had a problem with, their life isn’t worth his. He doesn’t owe Vern a death to repay him for his life.

Except, if he doesn’t help, he and Beecher would both die, and yeah, no one’s life is worth his own. If Beecher’s little kids were in danger and saving them meant dying, he’d let them die and get as far away from Beecher as he could.

…

They’re in the showers, and Toby’s tempted to go to one farther away from Chris, but that isn’t how things work in Oz. After the first night they were podmates, if he hadn’t come to shower right next to Chris, maybe, it’d be okay now, but-

“I don’t understand. Your parents get to decide whether you get to see your own kids.”

Chris hasn’t been angry or irritated so much as he clearly doesn’t think he (Toby) is handling this right, and there was a time when he would have thought this rich, but then, none of Chris’s victims have been kids, Chris isn’t an addict, and all of Chris’s ex-wives are still alive. He really doubts Chris ever drove any of them to a suicide attempt.

His grandmother had come alone, and she’d showed him a tape of them. She’d promised to bring them later in the day if he insisted, but she’d made her case for not.

“No. They think, all things considered, I shouldn't spend time with them yet. Y'know, seeing me like this might do more harm than good.”

They’ve never seen him with a beard.

Some lycanthrope shifters have a problem of either having vision so sharp it overwhelms them or, somewhat similar to farsightedness in humans, have problems with their eyes instinctively focusing on things in the distance. Glasses or contacts will help limit the sensory input. He’s worn glasses since he was 12, but since he doesn’t truly need them to function, he hasn’t gotten a new pair since Vern broke his.

He has no idea what sort of chemo signals he might unconsciously send out. Based on the angry words he hurled at his grandmother, he might end up using profanity around them, too. He might flat-out end up having a breakdown and scaring them.

“Seeing you like this?”

He can't help but sigh at the tone. “You know.”

“Beecher, you’re their father.” He feels more than sees Keller hesitate. “You know she might die. I truly hope she doesn’t, but it is possible. They need to be prepared. After everything they’ve been through, after everything that they might still have to go through, they need, at least, one parent. Maybe you can’t be there in all the ways they need, but not being there at all- They need you, not their grandparents. You.”

Drying off, he considers the words. “You think?”

“Yes.” Keller doesn’t hit him upside the head, but the urge is obviously there. “Look, everything you and they have been through, one thing will never change. They are your blood. You and your wife made them. They came from you and her.”

…

Chris is not allowed to either kiss or kill Beecher.

Technically, Vern probably wouldn’t have a problem with either, and Toby likes him enough that, with the former, maybe, he could still salvage things (what, so, you can later truly screw him over, a harsh voice in his head needles), but- Beecher’s going to see his kids. Beecher has shaved and is currently dressing in a suit.

“No,” he declares.

Giving him a questioning look, Beecher looks over.

“Take it off.” Going through the clean clothes, he finds something casual he imagines Beecher would have worn on the outside. “You’re not wearing a suit.”

“I really don’t think-”

When he starts to undo the tie, Beecher moves away, and thankfully, starts to change.

“What’s your logic against this?”

There is no logic. If Beecher walks around in that suit, it’s going to get so bad that non-shifters will know what he’s gagging for, never mind Beecher once the laser-focus towards his kids fades.

“You’re a kid, you haven’t seen your dad in forever, and he comes into a playroom dressed in his work clothes.”

Guilt flashes across Beecher’s face. “Good point.” Giving a small smile, he softly adds, “Thanks.”

…

“Beecher looks good without a beard,” O’Reily comments. “I’d forgotten.”

Christ, he’s sourly thinks. Et tu, you straight, Irish bastard?

Setting his cards down, he takes a deep breath. “My not hitting on you stands. But help a guy out." He makes his desire for sex clear.

Chuckling, O’Reily studies him. “Man, you’ve got it bad, don’t’cha, K-boy?”

“For you? Nah, you’re too-”

“Cut the crap, Keller,” is the pleasant reply. Picking up the cards, O’Reily starts reshuffling. “Everyone’s talking about it.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s everyone saying?”

Giving him a look, O’Reily shakes his head. “More about him than you. They think he’s going to get himself into a bad situation again. He looks at you sometimes. Soft puppy eyes.”

Wishing his throat weren’t so dry, he says, “I would have noticed.”

“The way everyone doesn’t notice he’s not the puppy?”

O’Reily blocks his attempt to punch his nose, and laughing, he says, “Hey, you want to get laid, I’ll point you in the right direction. But between us, I don’t think it’ll work. Look at Schillinger. He had Beecher, and he’s been obsessed ever since.”

No, he didn’t, he hasn’t, floats in his head. Schillinger hurt Beecher, got him to do what he wanted, but he never had him. I’m the one Beecher’s- He’s talked to me in the middle of the night, no one forced him to cut up my food when I had to deal with a broken wrist and only a spork, there was no fear or any reward when he took away my pain.

“Yeah, well, I’ve never had him. Never will.”

His emotions are all tangled when O’Reily nods.

“Thing is, I think you could if you tried. And you don’t strike me as the type who doesn’t go after what you want.” O’Reily shows he has a winning hand.

Taking the cards, he starts shuffling. “His wife is in a medically-induced coma. His two little kids are visiting, and he’s not seeing his baby right now. Besides, he still flinches sometimes when I touch him.”

And you just admitted you do want Beecher, you idiot.

Why is this a bad thing, another part asks. It could help the plan.

“Your best option for some fun is...”

…

At lunch, Beecher bounds over, and to his surprise, Beecher hugs him.

Feeling the warmth, the gentle press of Beecher’s body against his, he inhales, and expletives fills his head as he realises he won’t be trying to find time to go see if any of O’Reily’s suggestions would be up for some fun.

Tentatively, he returns the hug, and when it breaks, he knows, after Operation Toby is done, he’ll need to find some way to get transferred. Calling Virginia would be one of his last resorts, but it hits him he might not have a choice.

Chuckling, Beecher squeezes his arm. “Look, I want to thank you. I saw Holly and Gary, and it- You were right. I should have done this a long time ago.”

“Hey, don’t mention it.” They get in line for their trays. “So, they’re doing good?”

“Yeah.” Beecher smiles. “God, they’ve grown. Holly, she’s in Girl Scouts, and Gary, he’s decided to start an ant farm.”

“They wouldn’t let him bring that here, would they?”

“My parents and grandmother wouldn’t let him bring that here.”

“And the baby?”

“Harry’s doing good, too. He’s still teething, though. My little brother, Angus, he’s at college right now, but he’s going to visit soon. Holly and Gary have always loved it when he visits.”

“Oh, yeah? Tell me about him.”

They sit down.

…

Lights out is called.

“Hey, Beecher, you going to go crazy if I jerk off?”

Letting out a small sound, Beecher shifts above him. “No. But you’re on your own if the wrong hack catches you.”

Thankfully, Beecher holds true to his word, and when he’s finished, he lets the relief overtake him. In this one area, he’s good at being quiet and keeping names and desires inside. Beecher might have guesses about who or what he thought of, but he’s not at risk of being discovered.

It’s a temporary fix, but he’ll take it.

He’s just about drifted off when the pod door is opening, and McManus and Murphy are coming in.

“Seriously,” he grumbles.

“We’re not here for you, Keller,” Murphy says. “It’s about Beecher’s wife.”

“And you couldn’t wait until morning?”

Of course, Beecher starts showing signs of having a nightmare.

Getting up, he blocks Murphy. “Look, I hate it, too, but I’ve learned from experience, it’s better to let him wake up on his own. He wakes up with hands on him, it ain’t pretty.”

McManus sighs.

Gasping, Beecher wakes up.

“Hey, I’m here, Beech.” Settling his hand on Beecher’s chest, he can’t help but wince at how soaked it is. “Look, McManus and Murphy are here, too.”

Heavy-eyed and voice muggy, Beecher asks, “Because you jerked off?”

One of them stifles a laugh, and fair enough.

“No, because of your wife.”

He sees Beecher blink wide awake.

Touching Beecher’s forehead, he asks, “You alright?”

Moving away from the touch, Beecher nods. “I’m soaked. I need to change.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

Grabbing another shirt and pair of underwear, he tosses them on his bunk, and helping slip the soaked clothes off, he grabs a towel. “Here.”

“Thanks.”

Once they get Beecher dried off, he hands the clothes over.

After washing his face and rinsing his mouth, Beecher turns towards them, and with a sigh, he asks, “Is Gen still alive?”

“Yes,” McManus answers.

Seeing Beecher swaying, he puts a hand on his shoulder to guide him to the chair.

Murphy takes his bunk, and McManus kneels down next to Beecher.

“She’s been brought out of the coma, and physically, she’s doing fine,” McManus says. “They’ve moved her to the psych ward. She’s under a 72-hour hold. She understands what she did, remembers, and there’s no sign the carbon monoxide caused permanent neurological damage. Her parents and yours are all meeting with the doctors tomorrow.”

“Oh, thank God,” Beecher exhales. “If- I don’t know what they do if a patient has insomnia, but is there a way to make sure they know not to give her Temazepam? She was prescribed it in college, and she almost scratched her skin off. It was a physical side-effect, not mental, but it took over a week off it for the itching to fully stop.”

“I’ve arranged for you to do a party line with your family and hers after breakfast. You can take as long as you need.”

“Thanks, McManus.”

…

Vern doesn’t have the greatest grasp of the concept of stealth. Practically yelling in the library isn’t going to do any of them any good.

“Calm down. I’ve got this.”

“He’s happy! Stable. Everything is looking,” Vern lets creative words fly.

“And things are going to get even better for him. Then, it’ll be all the sweeter when we pull the rug out. Trust me, this is good for us, not him. It’s time I really start working the charm. Get him thinking of the possibility. Once that seed’s planted-” Smiling, he lets out a careless shrug.

Maybe I should try to find out whatever happened to those girls, he thinks.

…

“How’s your wife doing?”

Shrugging, Toby plays with his sandwich. “The kids are going to keep living with my parents for right now. She and her parents both blame me.”

“Here’s the deal: I’m serious about dunking your head, Beecher. You love her, and she is the mother of your kids, so, I won’t say anything out of line. But you be careful what you say about yourself when I can hear you. Got it?”

Chewing his food, Beecher looks over. Then, taking a small breath, he nods. “Got it.”

“Good.”

“And you’re right. I do love her. I always will. But if she brings up divorce- I think that’s probably for the best. We’re different people now. Maybe, she can- Christ, I hate the thought of another man being part of my kids’ lives, but that’s what happens sometimes. If she can find someone better for her than me, if she can find someone who’ll be good for them, I don’t want to ruin that.”

“Do you think there might be someone else?”

“No. If there was- Genevieve is a problem solver, and that’d be a hell of a lot easier to deal with than this. I’m here, she was all alone with the kids, and she must have felt so trapped. She could have demanded a divorce when I was first arrested. When I was sentenced. When- But she never brought it up. I tried, but,” Toby makes a sound that hurts his heart, “I didn’t try very hard.”

He wishes he hadn’t just agreed to walk on eggshells when it comes to Mrs Beecher. He doesn’t know her, he’ll probably never meet her, and he didn’t know Beecher back then.

Still- what kind of mother does what she did? If she couldn’t handle her husband in prison, why didn’t she ever bring up divorce or even just do it? She was free, she had family, it sounds as if she had Beecher’s family, too, what exactly made her feel so trapped she’d do this to Beecher and their children?

“Up for some wrestling,” Beecher asks.

“Always.”

…

I’m a disgrace to shifters everywhere if a human can make me feel like this, Toby thinks.

He slumps down against the wall.

Laughing, Keller slings a sweaty arm over his shoulders. “See, I told you you’re actually getting good. Don’t let it go to your head. As soon as I can move again, we’re going again.”

Gathering up his nerve, he says, “Let me ask you something.”

“Shoot.”

“You’ve been nice to me since you’ve first came here. Why? And because I know you’ll probably have some smartass remark, I’m not talking about you putting up with me or not trying to actively hurt me. You’ve helped me.”

There’s genuine surprise coming off Keller, but laughing, Keller leans so that his head is against the wall, and when he looks over, his eyes are almost soft. “Hey, I told you that first morning, me and you should look out for each other. You took my pain. Helped me out when McManus took away our knives.”

Underneath, there’s something, but he doesn’t know how to get to it.

“In comparison-”

“Really? You have slightly bigger problems. So what? Look, Beecher, I could have gotten who the hell knows what type of podmate. You think I was thrilled to get the practically feral werewolf who sprouted whacked out nursery rhymes? But hey, I always try to make the best of whatever situation I find myself in.”

Abruptly, pure sadness settles through Chris. “I find myself in a lot of bad situations. Sometimes, I really don’t know right from wrong, and sometimes, I make the wrong choice even with knowing better. It’s a pattern with me. I doubt I’ll ever break it. Uh, so, someday, I might need your help with something big.”

“I’ll try my best to be there,” he promises.

Chris doesn’t believe him, but flashing another smile, Chris squeezes his arm. “I’ll hold you to that. For now, I’m looking out for you the best I can, because, I like you. You might have issues, and I might not understand parts of you that are just you, not issues, but I like you. I like talking to you, I like kicking your ass at wrestling, and someday, if chess ever gets any easier, I’ll like beating you at that, too.”

“That’s never going to happen.” He braces himself. “I like you, too.”

They hear people wandering over to their part of the gym, and groaning, Chris gets up. “Come on.” He offers his hand.

“Christ, do I even want to know what you two lovebirds are up to,” O’Reily’s voice demands.

He looks over. “Hey, O’Reily. If you’re as good at boxing as Keller here is at wrestling, remind me to never, ever be stupid enough to get sucked into a match with you.”

O’Reily laughs. “You got it. What are the stakes?”

“No stakes,” Chris quietly says.

“Uh-huh. But we both know that ain’t quite true, don’t we, K-boy?”

Confusion is a daily part of his life. There are times he doesn’t even question it anymore.

Keller is genuinely pissed.

Putting himself in between them, he says, “Hey, Keller, come on.” Trying not to fidget at the assault of Keller’s warmth and smell, he continues, “Those bad situations you get into? Don’t let this be one of them.”

“I’d listen to him. See ya two around.”

O’Reily wanders off.

…

When Keller goes to make a phone call, Toby finds O’Reily.

Sitting down, he asks, “Hey, what was that about in the gym?”

O’Reily looks around. “You straight, Beecher? I know what Schillinger did messed you up, and you got that wife, really glad to hear she’s pulled through, by the way, but are you straight?”

“I don’t know,” he answers. “I used to believe the answer was, ‘yes,’ but now, I don’t know.”

“Keller doesn’t want what Vern did, but he does want.”

“What? Who? Not me?”

Giving him an amused, sceptical look, O’Reily doesn’t verbally answer.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Hey, I agree. No offence, but he clearly doesn’t have the most discerning taste.”

“None taken.”

“All the same, it’s true. As someone who likes him, I’d say he’s bad news. He’ll hurt you, different than Schillinger did, but still bad. You should have the right to make the choice of whether you want him or not, though, and that means having some of the facts. You don’t believe me, start paying more attention to his chemo signals and shit when he thinks you’re not. You might learn some interesting things.”

…

Climbing into his bunk, he tries to focus his mind.

“Hey, Beecher, you forget something?”

“No?”

Getting up to dig through the laundry, Keller tosses a shirt at him.

Oh, well, yeah, guess I did, goes through his head.

He honestly hadn’t been thinking, but he wishes this hadn’t happened today of all days. He’s sometimes still self-conscious about being fully nude around others and having them around him, but he knows him not having a shirt on isn’t going to spark anything in Keller, especially since Keller himself sleeps shirtless. More than this, either Keller has fully acclimated, become un-self-conscious to the nudity of himself around others and them around him, or he’d be this way even without prison.

Tossing it back, he says, “Trying something different tonight.”

“Alright.” Suddenly, a hand is on his forehead. “Maybe being a little cooler will help. Do you ever not run so hot?”

Genuine curiosity.

He shrugs the hand away. “Most shifters do. I’m normal in that regard.”

Putting the shirt back, Keller says, “Out of all my ex-wives, Bonnie was the one who adjusted best to whatever the weather was. Kitty, she’d press her bare feet against my legs when it was cold out, but she had to sleep with a blanket even in the summer. Angelique, she’d get too hot in bed with me a lot. Her core temperature or whatever was naturally cool-running.”

He climbs back into bed. “Night, Beecher.”

“Goodnight, Keller.”

…

He wakes up, and it’s dark.

As far as he knows, he didn’t have a nightmare.

Down below, Keller is sleeping soundly.

Slipping down, he tries to make sure the water isn’t too loud. Washing his face and taking a sip of water, he looks at Keller for a long moment.

This, he realises, might be a whole new level of creepy mental instability, a type he never worried about happening to him.

Getting back in his bunk, he wonders if Keller would react neutrally to him going to McManus to ask for a new roommate. McManus might protest, but as soon as Murphy got wind of it, he’d convince McManus.

He doesn’t think this would make an enemy out of Keller, but if a friendship has somehow formed, it probably would ruin it.

The almost cruelly pragmatic part of him knows: A friendship with Keller could come in handy. Keller already doesn’t like some of the Aryans. And Keller does seem to have some sincere worry towards him.

He dozes on-and-off for the rest of the night.

…

“Are you okay, Tobias? You look like you might be getting sick.”

“I’m fine, Sister. No nightmares, but I did have trouble sleeping last night.”

“Is something on your mind?”

Stretching, he sits down in front of the computer. “Have you met Chris Keller?”

“Briefly.”

“What impression did you get of him?”

“He seems very self-assured. Of course, that’s only a superficial reading. Why? Has he-”

“He hasn’t done anything. Or he’s done a lot, but the thing is, it’s been good. When you were gone, he’s been a- friend. Helping me get through everything.”

She studies him. “That’s good.”

I’m having a sexuality crisis, almost comes out.

“Why? You pegged him, Sister Pete. He’s self-assured. He knows exactly what he feels, and he has no reservations about telling everyone in detail. He says he likes me, and I believe that. I just- the answer he gave me for why doesn’t add up.”

“What answer did he give you?”

“Essentially, he talks, and I listen. He’s honest about the fact, if not for us being assigned roomies, he would have steered the hell away from me.”

“And what do you think the real answer might be?”

“I honestly have no clue.”

“I’d have to know more to draw a proper conclusion, but since you seem to like him back, I imagine there’s some real kindness buried beneath his bluster. The same way there’s more of the old Tobias Beecher left in you than you let most of the others see.”

He gets the subject changed.

…

At lunch call, he’s waiting for Chris at their pod when Murphy appears with Chris in cuffs.

“What did you do?”

Keller’s shrug is careless. “Other guy started it.”

“No,” Murphy tightly corrects, “the one who throws the first punch is the one who started it. This is your last chance, Keller. Pull a stunt like this again, and you’ll be spending a week in the hole.”

Undoing the cuffs, Murphy starts to walk away.

“Hey, Murphy,” he says. “Wait. Who’s the other guy?”

“Schillinger.”

He smacks Keller upside the head.

“I had a good reason,” Keller protests.

Murphy walks away even faster.

Taking in the slight bruising on Keller’s cheek, he sighs out, “C’mon. Let’s get you cleaned up before lunch.”

In the pod, he wets a towel. “What happened?”

Stretching out down on his bunk, Keller again shrugs. “Turns out, me and Vern did time together in Lardner. I was curious. Then, he said some things I objected to.”

“Oh, yeah?” He manoeuvrers so that he’s sitting on the bunk, too. “What things?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Murphy was serious. He will throw you in the hole, Keller.”

“This ain’t the only place that has a hole.”

He studies Keller’s face. “You got off light. Any pain?”

Smiling slightly, Keller shakes his head.

“Let’s go to lunch, then.”

…

Damn it, Toby, why didn’t you kiss me, goes through Chris’s head. I can see the signs. You’ve gone from confused to simply wanting me.

Okay, there’s probably still some confusion, but he knows Beecher has mostly come around to the fact Beecher wants him.

There’s still time.

Vern agreed to risk time in the hole. Either he’d be out of the way for a few days, making Toby feel safer, or it’d just make him (Chris) look good when Toby heard about the fight.

It might be Mrs Beecher, he knows. To- Beecher hasn’t said anything more about divorce, and he’s still married.

And if there’s any chance of that marriage still working, you really want to go that far, goes through his head. You want to do that to two little kids and a baby?

He knows he doesn’t have a choice. What he’s doing is wrong, it’s going to hurt him, too, but people like him don’t have any big choices.

His mind won’t shut up.

Angelique’s whole family was soap opera-obsessed, and one day, one of the kids pointed out it wasn’t fair that the women who slept with married men were always treated the worse. After all, yeah, it’s not a good thing to be with someone you know is married or otherwise committed, but if you aren’t married or in a relationship, then, you aren’t breaking any promises you made. You can’t break someone else’s promises for them.

Sex with Toby, aside from being everything he currently wants, might permanently destroy an already failing marriage, and innocent kids could suffer. But that would be on Toby.

Physically hurting Toby, especially as badly as Vern wants, that could truly, full-out traumatise those kids and possibly the baby, too, for life. It could make Mrs Beecher’s already dicey mental status much, much worse.

A prison shrink once called him a sociopath, but somehow, that never ended up in his file.

He’s read about sociopathy, and he’ll argue it doesn’t fully fit, but he does tick off a lot of the boxes.

Not for the first time, he wishes he ticked them all off.

…

“Hey.” Toby nudges Keller. “Where’s your head at?”

“Regular moonshine can’t get you drunk, right?”

Suddenly wary, he answers, “No.”

“Good. Because, I need to get drunk,” Chris says.

Before he can respond, Chris is getting up, throwing his tray away, and walking off.

Great. For all Keller isn’t Vern, Keller is going to end up getting him in trouble all the same. This, he realises, is likely what O’Reily meant.

Keller wasn’t going to get on the crazy werewolf’s bad side, but he’s not just the crazy werewolf anymore.

…

Bordering between buzzed and drunk, Keller’s unnervingly quiet.

Toby’s staying up in his bunk. “Do I want to ask if something’s wrong?”

“No,” Keller responds, and he doesn’t know if this means, ‘No, nothing’s wrong,’ or, ‘No, don’t ask.’

“What’s wrong, Keller?”

“Why didn’t you kiss me?”

“Because, I’m married. And I don’t dislike or distrust you, Keller, but no real good would come from getting involved with someone like you in that way.” Looking up at the ceiling, he lets out a sigh.

“I’ve been faithful to Gen for over a decade. Even if we can’t work things out, I still have to think of our children. Genevieve, even when we weren’t exclusive, I was never one for one-night stands. Once. It was fun, and then, it didn’t feel good. Besides, I’m an addict. You might not do it intentionally, but someone like you would end up getting me in trouble eventually.”

“Fair enough,” Keller mumbles. “I miss Bonnie.”

Knowing this is probably a mistake, he nevertheless slides down. Picking up Keller’s feet, he moves them so that he can sit down.

Movements unsteady, Keller sits up. “Kind of got the feeling you might be going through a sexuality crisis.”

“Oh, I am. I’m, uh, just trying to handle it without any destruction, to myself or others.”

Keller leans back against the wall. “I’d apologise, but-” He shrugs. “What did you think of prison before you came here?”

He leans back, too. “The honest truth is, I tried not to. In theory, I was all for prison reform. Rehabilitative and restorative justice. I knew, the words I read were clinical and distant. In theory, I knew what happened in prisons, and I largely disagreed with it. But in practise, I never truly cared.”

“Irony can be fun,” is the sardonic reply.

Chris starts to bring the moonshine back up, but stilling Chris’s hand, he manages to extract it. Looking around, he quickly gets it wrapped in a pillow case and pressed against the wall on his side.

“Why did you drink?”

“I’m not sure.” He feels familiar shame well up inside. “I used to blame it on the stress of my job. But really, I think I wanted to care more about things than I did, and I think I was afraid at how much I already cared.”

“What about your wife?”

“We both wanted a certain type of life. We both worked together to get it. Then, I don’t know. I don’t know if it changed for her or not. I just know, having it, maintaining it, I didn’t want it anymore. But I never tried talking to her. If she ever tried, I missed it.”

He’d told himself it didn’t matter. Holly, Gary, and baby Harry, he couldn’t quit his job to do something else. He couldn’t risk finding a lower-paying job. Gen was happy being a stay-at-home mom (now, he doesn’t know if she was or not), and it was good for them to have that. Private school cost money, and it’d cost more if they got into sports or music or some academic club. The insurance he had them on was the best out there.

“Yeah, Kitty did, too. She wanted me to go legit. Angelique wanted kids, cousins to play with her nieces and nephew. And Bonnie- I miss her,” Chris mournfully says.

He pats Chris’s shoulder.

“She made it clear she wasn’t gonna be bailing me out if I got my ass tossed in jail, but otherwise, she was like me. She didn’t care. A librarian or something, you know. She helped college kids find what they needed for thesis or dissertations or whatever the-”

“A reference or university librarian?” He tries to take this in. Chris is absolutely telling the truth here, but it’s so surprising he almost doesn’t believe him.

Shrugging, Chris adjusts his legs, and he carefully doesn’t look at the bulge starting to form.

“Heard you had glasses.” Chris fingers tracing around his eyes are gentle. “She wore contacts most of the time, but when she was lying in our too-small bed, papers and books all surrounding her, laptop on a dinner tray, these blue glasses on-” Chris sighs as he slips deeper into a pleasant memory.

“What went wrong with her?”

Chris laughs. “She was the best. But the first time I married her, she got a job offer in Texas. Knew she’d hate it, but she was gonna take it, and no way was I moving to that...” Chris’s words make it clear he does not have a high opinion of said state.

“So, we managed to get an annulment. Then, she came back, and eventually, we ran into each other again. I wanted it to work. She was the best to talk to. Killer in the sack, too. Thought we could be happy. But-” Chris shrugs.

“I decided ta do something stupid, and I didn’t want it affecting her. So, I divorced her. She insisted I take the motorcycle, and she insisted, if I tried taking the king-sized waterbed I’d got us or the stuffed zebra I’d won her on our second or third anniversary, I’d feel her wrath. Everything else, I took a few things, left her most of it. Lease was in her name.”

It’s not much, but he offers, “I’m sorry.”

“Beecher, what do you think of- I’m not like people. Right and wrong, I usually don’t see what other people see. What I did to get in here, it was right-”

“You robbed a convenience store, killed the owner in the process, and then, led the police on a high-speed chase while drunk and high.”

At this, Keller freezes, but before he has to worry that he might have just set him off, Keller shrugs. “I’m having more of the moonshine.”

He doesn’t move, and Keller reaches over him to get it. After another slug, however, Keller gets up, and unsteady on his feet, he hides it before stumbling back onto the bed.

“Alright, yeah, but I don’t do bad things to cause trouble. Usually. I just do- things. So, what I’m wondering, I owe a debt, and I don’t want to pay, but I need to. What would you do? No, that’s a stupid question.”

“Keller, have you gotten yourself into some kind of trouble?”

“No?”

He tries not to roll his eyes. “Okay. Look, tell me what-”

“This is hypothetical. Rolling around in my brain. I miss Bonnie, and there’s nothing fun to do here.”

“Alright.” He’s not sure he believes this, but he knows, even half-drunk, Keller will stick to this. He considers his words. “Usually, I’d say pay the debt, but that’s only advice I’d give if this were outside. In here- I guess I’d do a cost-analysis. What will keep me alive? And even if I keep myself alive, will I be able to face my kids when I get out? What will they hear about me and my time here when they’re older?”

There’s silence.

“Do you like me? I ain’t asking if you care about me, but if we were just two people, stuck in here, hating Shillinger, messed up but still alive, would you like me?”

That’s what we are, he almost points out. He doubts, however, Keller will appreciate this. Either Keller’s not saying something, or Keller’s logic is truly being warped by the moonshine right now.

“Yeah. I do like you, Chris. I- to a limited extent, I care about you.”

The way Keller looks at him makes him realise he’d just used ‘Chris’.

He’s more focused on ‘a limited extent’. Well, isn’t that cold and dismissive?

“Can I kiss ya?”

The words were soft.

Chris Keller doesn’t have any real softness in him. Or maybe he does for his ex-wives and the kids in that one ex-wife’s family, but he doesn’t when it comes to this place.

Still, he’s softer than Vern, this isn’t about dominance, and the truth is he himself has been wanting this for longer than he’d like to admit.

“Not on the bed.” Standing up, he doesn’t offer a hand.

Chris stands up, and it’s nice. It’d be better without the horrible hint of moonshine, but it goes from soft to deep with no hardness, and his body- God, he hasn’t felt this good physically in a long time.

“Toby,” Chris breathes out, and he can feel his heart in his chest. He’s not sure if it’s breaking or mending.

Therefore, he’s not surprised by what happens.

A hack beats on the glass, and he was stupid enough to stand close to the moonshine. Chris was calming down, de-escalating, coming out of his blue spell, but this puts him over the edge, and tossing the moonshine at the glass, he screams, and he attacks.

Watching Chris get dragged off, all he can do is sigh.

…

Sitting in McManus’s office, he watches the pacing. “Murphy-”

“Don’t.” Murphy glares. “You get to pee in a cup. And if I find out it was you who-”

“It was regular alcohol. And-” He takes a breath. “Sarcasm wouldn’t help me or him. So, I’m just going to assure you that I’m fully aware helping my podmate get alcohol would be bad. Chris is a live-wire even without it. I don’t have a name, but Chris has talked about a buddy in Unit B a few times.”

Murphy finally stops pacing.

“Is there anyway- He was stupid, but-”

“No,” is the firm response. “He’s staying in the hole for a week. I can’t make an exception here.”

“Right.”

Murphy sits down. “The kiss?”

“I don’t know.” He almost laughs at the look on Murphy’s face. “I’m not being smart, and I’m not covering. It happened. I wanted it to, and so did he. But- I don’t know.”

God help them both, Murphy clearly has some actual sympathy for him.

“Alright.” Standing back up, Murphy says, “Let’s go. You’re still peeing in that cup.”

…

“There’s not anything alcoholic, either regular or designed for shifters, in his system,” Dr Nathan announces. “No drugs, either. He’s clean.”

“Can you tell how long he’s been clean,” Murphy asks.

“There are new drugs being developed and flooded onto the streets everyday. To the best of my knowledge, the longest-lasting will ping for up to three months after exposure. I don’t test for caffeine, and if I did, I could tell you without doing the test he’d test positive. Otherwise, there’s absolutely nothing else in the way of stimulants, depressants, other forms of medicine, or any illegal narcotics in him nor is there any residue from any of the above.”

Giving him a soft smile, half-sympathetic, and half-apologetic, she touches his arm.

“Thanks,” he quietly says.

“Okay,” Murphy sighs. “Back to Em City.”

…

I’ve got to be more careful, goes through Chris’s head.

Trying not to shift against the cold floor underneath him, he has a memory of Bonnie wrinkling her nose when he’d told her about how some prisons throw misbehaving prisoners in Administrative Segregation. In some places, it’s just solitary under a fancy name. In others, it’s an empty room with nothing but a bucket to use for the bathroom. In some, prisoners are stripped completely naked.

She’d feel- she wouldn’t like the fact he’s naked with nothing but a bucket, but if she felt any sympathy for those subjected to it, though, it would be for those she didn’t know. Him, she’d just ask, _What did you_ _do_ _, and why did you do it_?

What he did was let out too much, and he’s lucky Toby didn’t press.

There’s no way he’ll ever get that lucky again. Some things have to be locked down tighter than Oz or any place like it.

He killed Roberto Chang, that convenience store owner, for a good reason, but if anyone ever finds out it wasn’t a drunken attack, there’s a good chance a call might be made to Virginia.

Cost-analysis.

Bonnie and Kitty both had been good at that.

He isn’t.

Irony really is a fascinating, if frustrating, thing. He has the perfect person to help him like they would, except, _hey, Toby, should I go through with helping ole Vern break your arms and legs, go through with humiliating you? You don’t love me, but I’ve gotten under your skin, you want me, and to a limited extent, you do trust me. It’ll hurt you deep to know I’ve been scamming ya._ _Might just fully break everything inside you._

Never mind the inherent bias Toby would have-

 _He’s made you weak_ , he hears, and it’s a combination of Bonnie’s calm, sweet voice, and Vern’s harsh, condemning one.

Taking a deep breath, he feels his resolve hardening. Toby’s a good man, and this isn’t his fault.

Still, you pay back what you owe, is one of the few rules of society he’s had a decent track record of keeping. Vern saved his life, and this means a favour is owed. Toby made him weak, and if it were just once, maybe he could let it slide, but Tobias Beecher, crazy werewolf, nice man, good father, potential friend, if not more, is a constant threat.

…

Toby looks up. “Hey, you alright?”

Making a vague noise, Keller responds, “Come to the showers with me. I can’t smell myself anymore, and I doubt I’ll be able to smell when I’m finally clean.”

“Okay.”

They go to the showers, and seeing the water hasn’t warmed up, he pulls Chris to keep him from stepping under. “Wait a minute.”

Once under the spray of water, a soft sigh emits from Chris.

There are others milling about.

Eventually, however, it’s just them.

Beginning to soap up, Chris says, “Look, about what happened- I like you, Beecher, but it’s the same. No real good would come from getting involved with someone like you in that way.”

This hurts more than he had imagined, but he can’t argue. Besides, he tells himself, this is a good thing.

“Yeah.”

“And I won’t bring anymore moonshine into the pod.”

“That’d be a good idea. Uh, I did try to get you out, but Murphy wasn’t budging.”

Chris grins. “Thanks. So, you and me, right?”

“You and me,” he agrees. “You’re clean, now.”

…

At lunch, Chris asks, “How’s your wife and the kids doing?”

“Soon-to-be ex. Genevieve was released from the hospital, and my parents are going to keep taking care of the kids while she recovers at her parents’. She’s putting the house up for sale, and the papers should come in the mail any day now.”

“Are you going to sign?”

Nodding, he opens his juice. “Uh-huh. It’s for the best.”

“Maybe so, but still. Shit, man.” Chris squeezes his arm.

“Schillinger’s most likely going to use this to taunt me. Do me a favour, and don’t lose your cool.”

“Me? I never lose my cool.”

“You were about to stab someone with a spork not so long ago over irritation at O’Reily and Murphy.”

“First off, I had nothing to do with the knives being gone. If I coulda stabbed a fork or spork through to hold it in place, been able to actually cut my own frigging food, that would have helped. Second, one time doesn’t make a pattern.”

“You punched Shillinger. You’ve punched, at least, three Aryans since you’ve got here. You literally just got out of the hole less than five hours ago. Haven’t you heard? By three times, a pattern’s been set.”

Chris looks sceptical. “I did most of that with a cool head. Besides, I hate what they did to you.”

He touches Chris’s arm. “That means a lot to me. But don’t punch or otherwise strike out at them anymore, cool head or not.”

“Alright, fine, but just remember: You aren’t included in that. I see what you think of yourself sometimes, Beecher, and I can’t do anything about that, but I can do something about what you say.”

“I’ll work on controlling my facial expressions better.”

Glaring, Keller smacks his forehead.

…

“Enjoy your time in the hole?” O’Reily sits down.

“Had a blast.”

“Been to the library lately?”

Trying to ignore the sudden chill going through him, he answers, “Part of my job.”

“Beecher used to love the library. Then, Schillinger happened. Maybe, you should get him to start going again.”

Do you want Beecher dead, he wonders. Or do you just not care?

Then again, he doesn’t know for sure if O’Reily actually knows anything, and he hates this fact.

“What’d Schillinger do to make him hate it?”

“He doesn’t hate it. Cards?”

“Yeah, sure.”

O’Reily starts shuffling. “He’s just scared. Some people can hate places, but I don’t think Beecher’s one of them. Even this place. He’s all for libraries on the outside, and he thinks it’s good we still have this one. It’s the people who made him afraid he hates. They’re the ones he’ll never forgive.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

After O’Reily does, he really wishes O’Reily hadn’t.

“Don’t be so surprised, K-boy. We both know what kind of man Schillinger is. If you can call what he is a man. Someday, he’ll pay.”

“He do something to you, too?”

“He’s done something to all of us,” is the mild answer. “But hey, what’s that saying? Push comes to shove, find out what you’re made of? That’s what happened with Beecher. Schillinger will try again someday, and I doubt Beecher will go down so easily then. I almost feel sorry for anyone dumb enough to be backing Schillinger when this happens.”

Beecher is always so genuinely calm around O’Reily, and he’d thought he’d understood.

Now, he feels uneasy. He wishes he had Beecher’s senses so that he had a chance of figuring out if O’Reily knows something or not.

Toby must know O’Reily can be like this.

“Hey, look, at that. Finally won. Good thing we didn’t play for stakes.”

Staring down at the cards, he knows one thing for certain: He didn’t win.

Look, O’Reily, he’s tempted to say, I get you hate Shillinger and don’t mind Beecher, but only one of them has ever made me weak, and I gotta protect myself from that.

Vern Shillinger hurt him in more ways than one, but he didn’t break. He got stronger, harder, smarter, faster.

Toby-

“I gotta go. Phone call with my little bro. See you around, Keller.”

“Yeah.” He hands the cards back. “See you around.”

…

Toby’s dozing when he hears, “Hey, what are you doing?”

Opening his eyes, he sees Chris kneeling near him. “Sorry. Did I wake you?”

“No. To- Beecher, what are you doing on the floor in your underwear?”

“I think some mountain ash or wolfsbane was in my food.”

“Shit,” Keller mutters, and before he can move away from the toilet, Keller’s pressing a cold towel against his forehead. “You throw up?”

“No, I just thought I might. If you need-”

“Shut up.” Keller sits down, too. “Schillinger?”

He shakes his head. “Some of the mountain ash isn’t always tightly sealed. It can get out in the air. And certain types of wolfsbane is used in drugs and alcohol. Someone taking or transporting can carry about small traces that can end up anywhere.”

Pity radiates from Chris.

“I’ll be okay. Go back to bed.”

“What do we do to get it out of your system faster?”

“Nothing. After count, I’ll go to the infirmary, and Dr Nathan will shoot me up with nettle.”

“That plant that stings people?”

“Not all species of nettle stings. It’s,” a jolt of pain goes through him, “uh, one of the nine essential herbs. It helps werewolves.”

“But there’s nothing else until then?”

“No.”

Rubbing his eyes, Chris sighs. “Okay. You know, Kitty, God love her, was a bitch whenever she was sick. So,” standing up, he strips the sheets off his bunk, “if I could deal with her, I can deal with you. At least it isn’t a nightmare.”

He watches as Chris spreads the sheets and blanket out on the floor before dropping a pillow down.

“Chris-”

Moving the towel to around to the back of his neck, Chris responds, “You need something, I’m here. Otherwise, let me get some sleep, alright?”

He wants to protest, but Chris is already wrapped up in the blanket.

Leaning further back against the cool wall, he focuses on the steady heartbeat and breathing, and when his starts to sync, he doesn’t fight it.

They both wake up when the pod door opens, and Chris grumbles out some expletives before demanding, “Seriously, what do you hacks have against waiting ‘til morning? Whatever it is, no. We can wait until lights on to hear it.”

Shining a flashlight, Murphy asks, “Beecher, Keller, why are you two on the floor in your underwear?”

“This is how I sleep,” Chris points out.

He needs to say something, he knows, but he’s so tired.

“It ain’t how he does. And on the floor?”

“Murphy-” He can’t fully repress his groan. “I think there was some wolfsbane or mountain ash mixed in supper. Wall’s cooler.”

Letting out an expletive of his own, Murphy sighs. “Do you need the infirmary now?”

“No. I want Dr Nathan, not that creepy night nurse.”

“Alright.” Murphy looks at Keller. “Hey, he gets worse-”

“I’m on it.”

Murphy leaves, and tossing and turning, Chris grumbles, “I’m calling Angelique. Her niece can call him at- Christ, I don’t even know what time it is. But in the middle of the night on his night off, he’s getting phone calls.”

“Sure,” he agrees.

“It’s the middle of the night, Beecher. I’ll think of something better when I’m not so tired. You could try to be a little more supportive. He woke you up, too.”

He chuckles, and it hurts.

“Look, Chris, don’t take this the wrong way. I’m not talking about sex or a relationship. But I love you. You’re the best friend I have in this place.”

Chris’s vitals and chemo signals spike, and then, cool fingers link through his, and looking up, Chris quietly says, “I love you, Toby.”

Happiness floods him, and even with the oppressive, overheated air and his body thrumming unpleasantly, he feels significantly better.

“Hey, in a day or two, let’s wrestle,” Chris murmurs.

“Sounds good.”

…

“How’d you cheat, Beech,” Ryan demands.

“I didn’t. I’m just that good.”

“Uh-huh. You’ve been smiling like the cat that ate the canary for days now. I’m taking these to my pod, and I find out you’ve weighed them down or-”

Toby rolls his eyes. “Feel free. That’s not how chess works, and you know that, but feel free. No, uh, things have just been really good lately.” Glancing at the clock, he says, “And I need to go. Meeting Chris in the gym.”

“Sure you don’t want to play another game?”

“Nah. Later, okay?”

Giving a small smile, Ryan nods. “Hey, be careful, yeah?”

“Don’t worry about me.” Toby squeezes his shoulder.

After Toby’s out-of-sight, Ryan sighs.

Then, going over to Augustus Hill, he says, “Hey, man, your roomie’s a big customer. So, I’m just warning you: There’s probably go to be a shakedown tonight.”

“Ah, dammit,” Hill mutters. “Beecher was no walk in the park, but in comparison to this- Hey, you up for doing me a solid?”

“Need someone to get the tits out from where he’s hid them?”

“Yep.”

“You got it.”

“Hopefully, Keller isn’t going to get Beecher in trouble. They find moonshine again, even if it’s the kind that can’t make Beecher drunk and he tests clean-” Shaking his head, Hill positions himself in the doorway of his pod. “His bunk. If he’s got them elsewhere, I don’t know.”

“I’ll look. Who knows, maybe, you and Beech will end up being podmates again soon.”

Hill scoffs. “Like Keller would ever allow that.”

Pocketing the drugs, Ryan comes over, and squeezing Hill’s shoulder, he says, “All good. I think I got them all.”

They slap hands.

“Thanks, man.”

“No problem.”

…

It will take along time for Tobias Beecher to remember everything that happened in the gym, but when he tells Dr Nathan, McManus, and Murphy that he doesn’t remember, this isn’t true.

He remembers walking in and seeing Keller and Vern wrestling.

He remembers some of the words, especially, _I don't love you. I've never loved you, not for a second._

He remembers, at some point, he desperately, pathetically pleaded, “Chris.”

He remembers the snap and pain of bones broken and wolfsbane invading his system.

Most of all, he remembers the promise he made to himself that he’d never extend love and forgiveness to anyone but his blood again. He loves his children, and he’ll always try to be there for them. He loves his family. Genevieve is the mother of his children, and because of this, he’ll always try to do right by her.

Other people, however, he might like them. He might give chances, if the risk isn’t too great to him.

But he’ll never be weak enough to be hurt like this again.

…

O’Reily looks up from his cards. “Doing laundry again?”

“Yeah,” Chris quietly answers.

“So, you a Nazi, now?”

He glances over. “What sort of question is that?”

“Blood in, blood out, man.” O’Reily shrugs.

“You knew.”

“I know almost everything.”

He gets the load started, and he debates sitting near O’Reily.

Finally, he does. “I’m not a Nazi. Never will be. Besides, there was no blood, and I didn’t kill him. I owed Shillinger a debt, and now, it’s done.”

O’Reily starts dealing. “I don’t have to have a finger on the pulse of this place to know that you know that ain’t true.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Murphy knows.”

“Can’t prove it, though, can he?”

“Not yet. If Toby talks-”

“He won’t.”

It’d be good if Toby did, but he can’t say this.

Closing his eyes, he covers them. “You knew, and you let this happen. How could- Why?”

“Hey, you did what you felt you had to, and it didn’t directly affect me. Sure, I like Beecher, but he ain’t Irish, and I’m sure not in love with him. So, not my place. Just like it won’t be my place if he walks out of the infirmary with a plan to take you down.”

“I’d deserve it.”

O’Reily doesn’t respond, and he’s not sure if this is meant as kindness or cruelty.


	3. Reconciliation

Spotting O’Reily, Chris goes over to the table to sit down. “Let’s play for stakes.”

O’Reily looks up. “Hey, my little bro’s visiting tomorrow. I’m not doing anything that loses me that.”

“It won’t.”

“Alright.” O’Reily digs a pack of cards out. “What are the stakes?”

“I need you to do a load of laundry and put it up for me.”

“Seriously?” O’Reily’s expression turns sceptical.

He debates explaining. On the one hand, O’Reily knows how pathetic he is. On the other hand, it wouldn’t be good if the whole prison did.

“Look, Beecher is coming back to Em City soon, and we might still be podmates. If we are- I’ve been sleeping on the top bunk. And I know I’ll be back on bottom, but Beecher might have a problem with smelling me all over.”

Murphy had taken all of Toby’s clothes out of the pod except for the Harvard sweatshirt he’d managed to hide.

“Just switch your mattress with his. If you haven’t slept on the bottom for almost three months, there isn’t going to be much, if any, trace of you left.”

Relief and admiration goes through him. “Huh. Good idea. Thanks, O’Reily.”

“No stakes this game,” O’Reily says.

…

“Beecher-” McManus starts.

“Murphy, back me up here. Look, I don’t remember a lot of what went down in the gym. Schillinger was there, but I have no proof of that. And I suppose, theoretically, it is possible my messed up mind created that and, in this one instance, he’s innocent. I don’t believe that, but I’ll acknowledge this could be the case. I don’t know what guard let me in or if he or she stayed after they did.”

This part is true. They’ve told him about a guard named Metzger, and he has vague memories of a new hack coming to Oz shortly before the gym incident, but he honestly doesn’t remember who was on duty outside the gym to let him inside that day. Apparently, Metzger is a secret neo-Nazi, but he can’t remember having any such suspicions or knowledge of this himself.

Sighing, Murphy nods.

Murphy has asked about Chris Keller several times, but each time, painful spasms have gone through his (Toby’s) body.

Lie detectors are sometimes admissible in a court of law, and so is the testimony of a trained shifter who has monitored a person’s vitals and chemo signals. However, ‘sometimes’ is the key. It’s been established numerous times that lie detectors can be fooled or simply be faulty, and even a good officer can be mistaken due to either their own bias or the fact a person can send out chemo signals that don’t always line up with truth or lies. A truthful person can send out indicators of deceit, and a skilled liar can control what they put out.

If Murphy flat-out says he’s lying, Dr Nathan herself will protest: Patient was in physical pain. Patient underwent traumatic psychological experience. Patient has been on several different medications in combination with the nine essential herbs.

Dr Nathan hands him a bag with a nail file, clippers, some cotton balls, and a small container of nail cream. “I’m trusting you not to turn any of this into a weapon or a bargaining chip.”

As he was healing, his claws started randomly sprouting every few days, and when they were clipped off, long human nails were left in their wake. One of the AIDs patients, Rocco, wanted to do pedicures and manicures, and he hadn’t protested. Once his left arm healed enough for him to start moving it, Rocco started teaching him how to do both himself.

“Promise,” he says.

“And this.” She hands him a cane. “You might want to use it till you're feeling steady.”

“Yeah, that'll come in handy.”

“Ready to go,” Murphy asks.

They leave, and he notices Murphy squeezing McManus’s arm as they do.

He used to think it was amusing, but now, he just feels sympathy for Murphy.

They get to a bench, and Murphy suggests, “Sit for a minute?”

Trying not to groan, he does.

“I’ve accepted you aren’t going to implicate Keller.” Making a small sound, Murphy leans against the wall. “Sometimes, I wonder if I’m really that different from the place I come from. I didn’t hear the word ‘tattle-tell’ until I was almost in middle school. We knew loyalty, but it was drilled in since toddlerhood that, you knew something was wrong, you told.”

“Maybe it explains why I only had one really close friend. Maybe others were more prone to keep quiet. Not snitching.”

“You only had McManus, because, for reasons I can’t fathom, you love everything about him. Your family and him are the people you devote everything to. Other than that, there’s your job. You’ve never really let other people in, tried to be part of their lives in a truly important way.”

“Huh. Well, anyways, you aren’t going to tell the truth about Keller, and I’ve accepted this. But if you want him moved out of your pod, I’ll do that, no questions asked.”

He considers this.

“Nah.” Carefully standing, he motions for them to resume walking. “He’s fine where he is.”

“Beecher, please, don’t kill him in his sleep,” Murphy softly says. “Don’t kill him period.”

“I won’t.”

And he knows his heart is steady, because, this is the truth.

“Don’t break his bones, either.”

“I promise you this, Murphy: As long as he doesn’t touch me, I won’t touch him. Whatever happened, I’m not out for revenge against Chris Keller.”

And this, too, is true.

…

Keller’s chemo signs are a mess when Toby walks into the pod.

He manages to get onto his bunk without too much pain, and almost immediately, he realises this isn’t his old mattress. He’s a little curious when and why it was switched, but it doesn’t really matter. What really bothers him is: His sweater wasn’t in the clothes Murphy brought to the infirmary.

Get over it, he reminds himself. Probably Keller or Vern. If it’s the former, let it go. If it’s the latter, he’ll pay for that and everything else soon enough.

“Beecher?”

Starting to file his nails down, he responds, “Yeah?”

“Look, I know there's no reason for you to believe me, but, um-”

Mostly, he feels disappointed. He’d prefer unrepentant jackassery.

Either Keller is trying to pull another con, in which case, through the anger and exasperation, he can’t help but retain a bit of respect, or Keller is- He isn’t even sure.

“You’re sorry?”

Keller’s insides wince. “Yeah.”

He knows Keller hates the silence, but Keller can leave. He’s staying on his bunk until lunch.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t thought to grab one of his books, and unless O’Reily drops by, there’s no one to ask to get one for him, but he’s staying.

Down below him, something breaks in Keller. “Look-” He stands up. “Toby, I’m serious.”

“That’d be a first.”

“Two months you were in the hospital, I had a lot of time to think.”

“So did I. Hear me out: What you did was impressive. Horrible to me, but impressive. I hate Vernon Schillinger, and I’m going to destroy him. You, I’m willing to let bygones be bygones. Unless you get in my way. So, pick a side, Keller. You’ll never be on mine, but there are other people you could develop a mutually beneficial relationship with. Or you can stick with him.”

“Toby-” Keller’s voice is soft, desperate.

It doesn’t become him.

“Look, what I did was wrong. I've been trying to figure out a way to prove to you that I'm truly sorry. And I do love you.”

“You seem to really believe that. Of course, I have no idea if you’re just manipulating everything so that I read that or not, but-”

“I’m n-”

“But if you do, all that means is you don’t know what love is. I do. I love my children, my parents and brother, the mother of my children. As much as she frequently irritates me, as much as I’m a disgrace to her, my grandmother and I love one another. McManus, he’s never going to give Murphy what Murphy so badly wants, but I believe he does sincerely love Murphy.”

“Look, there's gotta be something I can do.”

“If you want to stay alive, stay out of my way.”

Keller’s been alternating between pacing and leaning against the wall.

Now, he reaches out to touch.

Swatting the hand away, he warns, “Don’t.”

“I know you’re angry, and I know I deserve it. I-”

“Right now, I’m calm. There are times when the anger toward Schillinger burns so badly it hurts almost as bad as my legs and arms did. But like I said, I’ve had a lot of time being forced to confront my thoughts and feelings. And I killed an innocent girl. I took away a mother and father’s child. I deserve worse than the sentence I got.”

“I acknowledge and accept this. But Schillinger is a special kind of evil. No one, no matter what they did, deserves what he did to me. He’ll never receive justice. I’ve acknowledged and accepted this, too. He will die, though. Soon. Hopefully, painfully. If you’re still with him, feel free to tell him.”

Keller scoffs. “And I’m nothing to you?”

“There are times I hate you, too. Indulging in those feelings, though, they’ll only distract me. You had power over me, Keller. My fault, my mistake. I won’t let you again.”

To his surprise, Keller gives a small chuckle. “You see, I can argue against that. You love me, Toby.” Gesturing down to the spot close to the toilet, he says, “That was real. That’s why I know, you must still feel something for me. The thing is, you have power over me, too. Please, tell me what I can do. I’ll do anything you want.”

“It wasn’t real, and I don’t want anything from you. I’m going to kill Vern, and then, I’m going to work on making parole. Do whatever you want. If you stay out of my way, I’ll stay out of yours.”

He takes off his shoes and socks to start on his toenails. “Murphy doesn’t want you here. Soon enough, McManus will get the idea to switch people around, and we both know Murphy will jump to separate us. I look forward to that day. For me, it’ll mean getting rid of you. For you, though, you’ll want to make sure you end up with-”

Keller’s angry, expletive-filled words make it clear he doesn’t appreciate what’s been said. “I’m not going to move.”

He’ll admit his next words were said with the intent to rile Keller further up: “If you want the pod so badly, I’ll be happy to be the one who leaves.”

Finally, Keller storms out.

…

Chris is punching a bag when O’Reily sits down on a nearby bench.

“I’m going to take a guess things with Beecher aren’t great.”

He ignores him until he gets a twinge in his left hand.

Going over to get some water, he sits down. “He doesn’t hate me. Too much. I can work with this.”

The silence grates on him.

“Oh, what you don’t think I can?”

O’Reily shrugs. “The impression I get is you’re just another of Vern’s soldiers, K-boy. You push him too far like Robson did, and you’ll regret it. But he’s not after any of the other Aryans. Only Vern. Thing is, hate isn’t the opposite of love. Indifference is. And in my experience, it’s much, much easier to work with someone who either hates or loves than it is someone who doesn’t have some personal stake in things.”

Taking this in, he starts to unwrap his hands. “Do you know what Beecher’s work schedule is?”

…

He takes the fact it’s not Murphy or Metzger escorting him as a promising sign.

After the door’s closed, he says, “Thanks for seeing me, Sister.”

“That's why God made office hours.” Sister Pete gestures for him to sit. “Christopher or Chris?”

“Chris.”

“How can I help you, Chris?”

“Nun first or shrink first?”

“Shrink,” she answers.

“I’m not Catholic. My mother was Cafeteria, and I believe in God, but I’m not here for the sacrament of confession. Does doctor-patient confidentially apply, or do I need to wait until a licensed psychologist or psychiatrist comes?”

“I am a licensed psychologist. Unless I believe you’re a danger to another person, what you say in here stays in here. If you’re suicidal or struggling with self-harm, telling me won’t result in you going to the psych ward unless you consent to that or there are other indications of clear mental instability. It’s my job to try to help guide people. If they make decisions that hurt themselves, ultimately, the decision is theirs. It’s only when they pose harm to others I’m ethically bound to directly intervene in their lives.”

He thinks he might really like her.

Getting more comfortable in his chair, he takes a deep breath. “I helped Vern Shillinger attack Toby in the gym. And I did more than that.”

She takes a sip of her coffee. “What else did you do?”

…

“Tobias.” Sister Pete hugs him.

He returns the hug. “Hey, Sister P. Thanks for all those CDs you lent during my time in the hospital.”

“Of course. Are you sure you feel up for returning so soon?”

“Almost three months isn’t soon.” He carefully sits down. “Don’t worry. I’m doing good. Now, be honest: How badly have you messed things up in my absence?”

She smiles. “Quite a bit, I’m afraid. That computer has a vendetta against me.”

“I’ll see if I can’t get it back to grudgingly performing it’s duties.” He steels himself. “Um, I heard Chris Keller was in here earlier. What was that about?”

“That falls under doctor-patient confidentially,” is the neutral response. “How are things between you and him since you got back? I know you two became close before you were attacked.”

He starts working on the computer. “Not as close as I thought. We’re fine, though.”

“Remember, I’m always available to talk if you need someone.”

“I know. Thanks, Sister Pete.”

…

Grumbling about the food, O’Reily sits down.

“Hey,” Toby greets.

“Hey.” Holding a bundle of gray out, O’Reily says, “Here. I’ve tried to keep it safe.”

“Is that-” He unfolds his Harvard sweatshirt. “Thank you,” he breathes out.

“No problem. So, Schillinger?”

“Yeah. Any chance you want in on helping me bring him down?”

“Say the word. That Nazi,” an accurate word is applied, “has been around for far too long already. What about Keller?”

“When you said he’d hurt me, you were right. He’s with Schillinger. Or was. I don’t know what he’s up to right now or exactly how far his loyalty actually goes. But I’m not going to let my feelings towards him stop me from seeing Schillinger dead. He gets in the way, he can join ole Vern in the morgue. He doesn’t, and I’ll chalk his continuing presence up to a lesson hard learned.”

O’Reily squeezes his arm. “I really am sorry, Beech.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“What are your feelings towards him?”

“Mostly, I just want to be able to put what he did behind me. Put him out of my mind as much as possible. We won’t be podmates forever, and sure, we’ll be stuck in Oz for several years, at least, but it should be easy enough to avoid him.”

“I’m not so sure.” O’Reily nudges him.

Following O’Reily’s eyes, he sees Keller is sitting with Rebadow, Busmalis, and Hill, and from the way Keller is openly staring at them and not so much eating his food as shanking it, he feels relatively safe in guessing Keller isn’t happy.

Still, he wouldn’t bet money.

“If I need to, I’ll work on that. I do admire- I will give it to him: He’s talented. If he’d stuck to conning instead of doing something so stupid as robbing a convenience store, I imagine he’d be in a much better place in his life right now.”

“Chess before lights out?”

“Sounds good.”

…

Getting onto his bunk, he realises he forgot a book, again.

“You need or want something?”

“No.”

Keller edges closer. “Look, Toby, just tell me: You aren’t going to do something stupid with O’Reily, are you?”

“Define ‘stupid’.”

Frustration and pain rolls off Keller. “You’re a shifter. You can read chemo signs, listen to vitals, all that, right?”

“Yes. And someone like you is good at making that ability useless. Or maybe I shouldn’t say that. You actually turned my ability to do that into a weapon for you. Even Murphy, he wasn’t as in as I was, but you got him convinced, too.”

“Not really. Alright, look, Beecher, will you please just listen to me?”

“I don’t have anything to tune you out with, and I’m not leaving until O’Reily comes. We’re playing chess before lights out.”

“O’Reily knew, too. He knew what Schillinger was planning. He knew I was in on it.”

“Yeah. I mean, I can’t say I knew for sure, but this doesn’t surprise me. If it makes you feel better, I do believe you.”

Keller is smart enough not to hit him upside the head.

Part of him wishes Keller weren’t. An excuse, any excuse-

“And yet, you’re still friends with him.”

“Yep.”

Suddenly, a tangle of emotions that make him feel like crying burst through, but taking several deep breaths, he manages to vanish them.

“When I first met O’Reily, I didn’t know who he was. Not really. I was this pathetic lawyer, pathetic man, if we’re being honest, who- I didn’t know anything. But he was honest from the get-go. Eventually, I learned exactly what type of person he is. He’s not someone I’d be friends with on the outside. I hope to God he’s never in the visiting room the same time my kids are. And yes, he might screw me over someday, maybe even worse than you did.”

“But I know that. It doesn’t particularly help me be prepared, but he’s more trustworthy than you’d ever be.”

“Not exactly Iago, then,” Keller comments.

The observation, _Turns out you’re more like him than O’Reily is_ , hovers in his head, but he knows it wouldn’t be good to say this.

“He could have done something to stop things. For Christ’s sake, he could have stopped you from going to the gym that day.”

“It’s not his job to be my 24-hour protector. You know, often, the law makes a distinction between someone knowingly letting something bad happen and someone doing something bad. I have a rough idea of where I stand with him. With you, I have no idea, and I never will. All I can do is make sure you understand where I stand with you.”

The hurt pouring off Keller is enough to almost choke him.

A knock startles them both.

“Yo.” O’Reily holds up a chessboard. “Thought we could play in here.”

“Sounds good.”

Handing him the board and bag of pieces, O’Reily grabs his books.

Affection, relief, and gratitude roll through him, and taking them, he says, “Thank you.”

“Coming up.” Climbing, O’Reily settles into a legs crossed position with a nod.

…

“No nightmares?”

“No. Part of the good side-effects the medication I’m on brings. I’m only on it for the next month, though.” He finishes brushing his teeth.

“Beecher-”

“Can we not? This is going to get beyond tiring fast. You’re sorry. Or you say you are.” Turning to face him, he says, “It doesn’t matter which it is. I can never and will never trust you again. Now, I do hope that doesn’t mean we’re going to be enemies. Having one is more-than-enough. But if it does, it does.”

Squeezing past, he grabs his clothes.

…

“Why did you help Schillinger?” Sister Pete asks.

“When I was seventeen, I was doing time in Lardner. Vern was there, and he saved my life.”

“Did you have sex together?”

He’d forgot he was talking to a nun until now, and bracing himself, he answers, “Yep.”

“Did he force himself on you?”

“Vern likes the power part of sex, so, I let him think he did.”

“Do you enjoy sex with men?”

“Toby asked the same thing. I enjoy sex. It can be fun with either. Now, marriage- I’ve heard there are some people who believe men should be able to marry men, women-women. I agree with the people who say no, marriage is meant to be between man and woman, husband and wife.”

It’s subtle, but there’s a flicker of something in her expression. He wonders if she believes the opposite, and he has to stop himself from laughing at the thought of a Catholic nun potentially holding such thoughts.

“But hey, thank God for the sexual revolution. Sex is a natural instinct in humans. Me personally, I like it best when love, trust, respect, friendship, just good feelings in general are involved, but I’m not going to feel bad when I have sex with someone I don’t feel those things for.”

“Did you and Tobias ever have sex?”

“No. That’s probably a good thing.”

“Why?”

“You’re asking why it’s a good thing I didn’t have sex with the man I was plotting to break his arms and legs?”

“I’m asking why you think it’s probably a good thing.”

“Because, I wanted to. I wanted that more than anything. And I could have had that. I don’t mean force. I’ve never forced sex with anyone. I could have played my cards a little differently, applied a little more pressure in just the right places, and he would have been with me. But- then, everything would have gone the same with Vern.”

He tries not to shift in his chair. “Now, though, I might never get that. And-”

Unable to help it, he scoffs. “I don’t know. I know you think it’s a good thing I didn’t. We didn’t. Even if you’re okay with the two men part, gaining someone’s love, sharing something so intimate and special with them, and then, doing what I did, yeah. But tell me, if a person has the chance to get something they want so badly, and then, they blow that chance, how are they supposed to live with that regret?”

“In this instance, despite you doing a bad thing, you had a chance to do even worse. And you chose not to take it. You chose to, at least, partially do the right thing. Doing the right thing is often not easy. There are rarely instant, tangible rewards.”

She plays with her glasses. “Chris, is there anything besides owing Vern your life that contributed to your decision to be a part of the plan?”

“He might have killed me or otherwise targeted me if I didn’t.”

“Would the threat of that been enough to propel you if not for you feeling you owe him such a great debt?”

He has a feeling he knows where she’s going with this.

“Toby made me weak.”

“How so?”

“I said something I shouldn’t have to him. What it was isn’t important. He didn’t even realise the importance of it. The point is, this is something I made the decision to never say a long time ago. We were talking, I was buzzed from moonshine, and I let it slip out. It wasn’t his fault. I do know that. But he made me weak, and if I didn’t return the favour, he’d be a constant threat.”

“Do you still consider him a threat?”

Catching her eyes, he says, “I was wrong. If I could take back what I did- but I can’t.”

She nods. “Chris, do you understand that Vern Schillinger raped Tobias? If you believe you made a truly consensual choice when you were in Lardner, I don’t think I’ll be able to dissuade you from that. However, Tobias didn’t. He was repeatedly raped.”

“Rape is a very traumatising experience that some people have to spend their whole lives simply finding ways to cope with the fact it happened. Some people can heal. Some can’t. He unknowingly, non-maliciously took a bit of power from you that he may or may not have used if he had realised he had it. In return, you worked with his rapist to attack his emotions, his body, and even, I’d say, his soul.”

Covering his eyes, he tries to control his shudders.

…

Toby knows he should be happy Keller is giving him space, but in truth, it puts him on edge.

At least, when Keller was going on about love, he knew for sure Keller was up to something.

Now, he doesn’t know if Keller has lost interest in trying to screw him over or if this is just another tactic.

“Hey, Beecher?”

Shouldn’t have put that out in the universe, is his weary thought.

Maybe, if he doesn’t answer, Chris will assume he’s asleep.

“I know you’re not asleep. You press up against the wall when you’re thinking, sleep on your back in the middle. Makes different shapes in the mattress.”

“There’s no way you knowing this isn’t creepy.”

“Sorry,” is the soft reply, and there’s a hint of the sardonic to it. “I’ve been thinking. If I told McManus about helping Vern and Metzger, told him what we, what I helped them, did to you, would that help you?”

“So, Metzger was involved, then.”

Down below, strong chemo signals emit from Chris. “Yeah. But you knew that.”

“No, I didn’t. McManus and Murphy were sure he was, but I honestly don’t remember what hack let me in the gym or if they stayed.”

“How- how much do you remember?”

“Enough that, as soon as I find a good way to do it, Vern’s going to die. If you told, he’d go to the hole. There’d be a trial. It wouldn’t matter. He’d come right back to Oz, and the extra time would give him more to attack me with.”

Keller, though, would go into protective custody, he realises. Then, after he got out, Murphy wouldn’t even have to convince McManus; McManus himself would ensure Chris Keller never shared a pod with him again.

Learn to think these things through before you talk, Beecher, he chides himself.

“Do you hate me, Toby? You talk about knowing where you stand with O’Reily. I know you’ve said, if I don’t get in your way, you won’t go after me. But do you hate me?”

He considers the question.

“I try not to think of you at all. I don’t feel good things when I do. Vern, what I feel for him, that’s pure hatred. You, you were a weakness. Most people, they can overcome weaknesses. Most people aren’t addicts. The only way an addict can live a healthy life is if they try to put a healthy distance from their weakness. Some of them, they have to stay as far away from it as they possibly can.”

There’s silence.

“That answer your question?”

“How’s it going, not thinking of me?”

“I’m managing pretty well right now.”

Down below, Keller moves around in bed.

…

Coming in, O’Reily gives him an unpleasant look. “You’re doing his laundry, again?”

Over from the corner he’s sulking in, Keller says, “Apparently, I don’t do it right. Two months, no one complained.”

“Other people aren’t a werewolf who have to spend hours locked in a pod with you and it. You get them looking clean and smelling okay enough that only humans with sensitive noses would complain. I’m going to get them where my nose lets me actually breathe during the night.”

O’Reily’s disapproval turns to amusement. “You hear about Schillinger’s boy arriving?”

“Yeah, hope Daddy and little Nazi junior will be very happy.” He turns the washer on. “Nothing’s keeping you here. I’m not going to destroy or lose your clothes.”

“That’s the thing,” O’Reily says. “Andy boy is coming to Em City. Schillinger’s about as thrilled about that as he is the fact his boy’s a druggie. Good ole straight-edge Vern.”

Cursing, he bangs the washer before realising, if he breaks it, he’ll end up in a place that smells even worse than Keller’s dirty laundry.

“Great. How long do you think until Vern worms his way back in?”

“He won’t,” Keller says with quiet surety.

“I doubt this one will stay that long. Or be the terror his old man is. He’s already bought a shitload of tits off me, and he’ll keep sucking until he ODs.”

An idea comes to him. “Maybe. Hey, O’Reily, let’s play chess in the quad tonight, okay?”

“Sure. Legs starting to-”

“Hey.” Standing up, Keller comes over. “I want in.”

“Tell Schillinger I’m coming for him and it involves his boy. Otherwise, you’re getting nothing to take back to him.”

“Beecher, this isn’t-”

“Come on, K-boy,” O’Reily impatiently says. “You owed Vern a debt. And there might not have been blood, but Beecher’s broken bones made yours.”

Wrapping an arm around his shoulder, O’Reily pulls him away from Keller. “I’ve always hated Schillinger, too. I can’t speak for the Irish here, but you want to go after him,” O’Reily spits on his hand, “I’ll be happy to help. You run the show.”

Spitting on his own hand, he shakes O’Reily’s. “Thanks.”

Keller is frustrated and something else he can’t quite pinpoint. “Hey, Beech, is your sweater in this load of laundry?”

“I’m not answering that.”

Scoffing, Keller heads for the door. “Well, say goodbye to it. I’m getting it from the pod, and then, it’s going with me to PC. Might need to wait a little to strike at Vern.”

“Hey, wait.” O’Reily grabs Keller. “Beecher, is he serious?”

“I’m not the person who can answer that.”

“Yes, I’m serious. You want me to go against Vern, I’ll go against him.”

He shrugs at O’Reily’s look. “I don’t need or want anything from you, Keller. I’ve told you that over and over. Maybe, someday, it’ll get through. And sorry, O’Reily, I really can’t answer. He’s too good. He is serious about the sweater, but otherwise-”

Giving another shrug, he catches Keller’s eyes. “But uh, bad news on that front. I sent it home.”

“K-boy, stay for a minute. Beecher, let’s talk over here.”

Trying not to roll his eyes, he follows O’Reily to the other side of the laundry room.

“Look,” O’Reily quietly says, “I’ve never worked with Vern, and I wouldn’t work with him when it came to you. You know that. Keller’s biggest advantage was no one knew anything about who he was before he came here. Now, we know who he is. If he tries to double-cross us, we’ll find out soon enough. Besides, if you’re thinking of getting into Andy boy’s head, who better to help with that than a conman who knows the poor little prick’s old man?”

He hates this idea, but it hits him: Maybe, he can do something about Keller, too.

When he said he wouldn’t go after Keller unless Keller went after him again, he meant it, and he still does. But he’s tired of sleeping above Keller at night, he’s irritated he has to do Keller’s laundry, because, even if he gave specific, detailed instructions, Keller would find a way to mess it up (and this assumes Keller actually would even try), and he’s scared at the random thoughts and feelings that sometimes slip through without warning. Being indifferent, being calm, not seceding anymore of his power to Keller, all that would be easier if Keller were no longer around.

If not, at least, if Keller doesn’t screw him over again, Vern will receive payback soon.

“Alright.”

O’Reily studies him. “Really?”

“Yeah. What the hell. I hate Schillinger more than I want to ignore him.”

They go back over to Keller.

“Toby?”

“I could permanently paralyse you. Make you worse than Hill is. Of course, that would really screw things up for me. But I’m warning you: If you don’t walk out right now and you choose Vern’s side again, I’ll do that or worse. So, either walk out, and I’ll bring your laundry back later, or stay. Don’t stay unless you’re fully prepared to go against Vern, Chris.”

A sudden mess of chemo signals hits him, but swallowing, Keller nods. Then, lifting himself up onto the folding area, he declares with an irritatingly smug grin, “I’m staying.”

After they sit down, he keeps his senses on alert for anyone approaching. “I really doubt there is, but I want to see if there’s any true goodness in Andrew Schillinger. If there isn’t, we’ll kill him. Oz, hell, the world, will be better off without both of them. But if there’s a chance we can turn Andrew into something his dad hates-”

He chuckles. “He won’t be so happy about Andrew being sober if Andrew suddenly starts believing all these ideas Vern abhors. Take away his son, and then, when he dies, he dies knowing what type of legacy the Schillinger name might end up carrying. That’d be sweet.”

…

“Hey, Sister, sorry I’m late. Andrew Shillinger, Vern Shillinger’s son? He had the guards chasing him all over the cafeteria and finally ran across the table I was at. His hand landed right in O’Reily’s food, and I had to help him get another tray.”

“He ran across the table?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Tobias, once he gets out of the hole, I’m going to bring Andrew into the group. I hope that won't be a problem for you.”

“Not at all. To tell you the truth, I would’ve expected worse from Vern’s kid. He seems more- lost than anything. Of course, Vern was good at hiding his cruelty, too. It’ll be interesting to see how far the apple does or doesn’t fall from the tree.”

Taking note of her accepting this, he feels a twinge of guilt, but he buries it.

He doesn’t believe the sins of the parent should be held against the offspring. If Schillinger junior isn’t the threat to others that his dad is, he’ll be spared.

If he’s just as bad as Vern or worse, however, he meant what he said: The world will be a better place without both of them.

He’ll just need to make sure whatever he does to bring about said deaths doesn’t change his eyes.

…

“Shillinger junior’s crying under the stairs.” Keller sits down. “What did you and O’Reily do to him? He has a black eye.”

“That wasn’t us.” Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he tries to ignore the smell coming off Keller. “He probably has more than that. He mouthed off in group, O’Reily made it clear Sister Peter Marie wouldn’t be talked to that way, and Andy was all ready to beat up on O’Reily. Then, before the hack on duty could even take a step towards us, Andrew misstepped and ended up with his face hitting the chair. Sister Pete wanted him to go to the infirmary, and this reasonable suggestion was met with what I hope was him having trouble running due to an injury.”

In the cafeteria, he hadn’t really paid attention. Now, he’s never been a runner or jogger himself, but if that is how an uninjured Andrew runs-

Keller is torn between amusement and derision.

“Anyway, stand by. Wish me luck. Or something.”

“Toby, about me moving out-”

Impatience thrums through him, but he tells himself this is likely good practise. He’s about to deal with a drugged out, racist bastard, and for right now, his way of dealing is going to have to be shows of kindness.

He’s never been a kind person, but until he murdered a little girl, many people believed he was.

“I’m going to propose a deal. What I want right now, what I need, is to figure out what to do about Andrew and see Vern dead. Help me with that, focus solely on that, and once Vern is dead, you and I can have a real conversation about what happened in the gym. I doubt it’ll go the way you want or hope, give you closure, or anything else, but I will talk to you, tell you what I’m thinking and feeling, and try to listen to you. But until Vern’s gone, that conversation isn’t something I’m willing or possibly even able to have. Okay?”

He offers his hand.

Keller studies him, and he can feel how Keller wants to believe him so badly it’s painful but isn’t sure if he should.

Then, however, Keller takes a breath, gives a small nod, and shaking the hand, agrees, “Deal. Good luck.”

…

“Hey.” He carefully navigates himself underneath the stairs. “You okay?”

Andrew blinks blearily at him. “You’re the werewolf who helped me.”

“Yeah.” He lowers himself down. “My name’s Beecher.”

“I’m Andy. Andrew. Why do you have a cane?”

“I was poisoned with gold wolfsbane.”

There’s a noise of thoughtless pity. “Can you get me some tits, man?”

“Sorry, no. Who are you rooming with?”

Largely unfocused, Andrew mumbles about his father’s buddy.

“Well, my podmate’s moving out. Want me to see if you can move in?”

It shouldn’t be this easy. He had several different approaches planned in advance.

However, apparently the white part plus a desire to get away from his dad’s mean friend trumps the werewolf part, and he’s not exactly surprised Vern somehow managed to raise a complete idiot, but at the same time, he’s always given Vern due for being an intelligent man, and this kid- is a complete idiot.

Even with his sore legs, intermittent flashes of sensory overload, and occasional headaches, he could claw Andrew to death in less than a minute. He could snap the little bastard’s neck. He’s not an alpha, but if he were, he could bite the kid before Andrew even had a chance of trying to defend himself.

…

“You must think I’m an idiot,” McManus says. “You want me to move Keller out of your pod and move Andrew Schillinger in.”

“McManus, I’m probably going to sound sarcastic here, but no, I don’t think you’re an idiot. I know for a fact _he_ is. Look-” He takes a breath. “When I heard Schillinger’s son was coming here, I wasn’t happy, but I wasn’t going to put myself in danger trying to express that. I fully planned to avoid him. If I wanted to hurt him, I would have already. I’ve had plenty of opportunities.”

“But he’s in Sister Pete’s addiction group with me, and aside from the racism, I don’t think he’s anything like his father. He’s a scared, stupid kid. It’s just- I do have some idea what he’s going through. If he can get clean, there might be hope for him.”

Considering this, McManus says, “Sister Pete said you tried to help him when he got hurt during group.”

“With a father like Schillinger, it’s easy to understand him turning to drugs. Right now, he’s sharing a pod with another Aryan, but Schillinger told his pals to ignore him. He’s becoming more and more isolated, and none of us want that. Now, I doubt I can do anything about the racism or stupidity, but I do believe I can help him get clean. And once he is, I think he’ll be less trouble, not more.”

“Do you promise this isn’t about revenge?”

He looks McManus straight in the eyes. “This will piss Shillinger off, and I’ll be happy about that. But I’m not going to hurt Andrew to get back at his father. I’m not the type of person who’d hurt someone the way others hurt me.”

“You must’ve been a pretty good lawyer. You can be fairly persuasive when you want to be.”

“When it’s important,” he says.

“He gets hurt, it’s your ass.”

…

Crying and the smell of urine snaps him awake.

He reminds himself he was once this pathetic, but he doesn’t really believe it. Pathetic, yes. This- no.

Sliding down off his bunk, he keeps his voice gentle. “Hey. Andy? Withdrawal, huh?”

There’s a vague sound hinting that Andy is cognisant.

It hits him he really should have tried to get Andy to spend the next few nights in the infirmary. They could deal with this. Here, there’s a chance this stupid kid might actually die.

He wonders if Keller had similar thoughts. He wonders if Keller was as disgusted and irritated but felt dealing with the crazy werewolf gently in order to complete the mission was necessary.

It probably says something completely screwed up that he’s dangerously close to feeling sympathy for Keller.

“Okay. I can’t do a pain drain, but I’ve been there. Here’s what we do.”

A spike of fear goes through Andrew.

Wetting a towel, he starts to wipe Andy’s face, and a strong, desperate grip wraps around his wrist.

“We’re just going to talk. First, you’re going to put on a new pair of boxers, we’re going to get on my bunk, and then, we’ll just talk. Okay?”

Despite the fear, some part of Andrew wants to believe. “About what?”

“Anything. It doesn’t matter.”

Andrew manages to get changed, and they manage to both get on the top bunk without incident. Wrapping his blanket around the shaking Andy, he says, “After breakfast, we’ll bring some juice back, spill it on your bunk, and the hacks will get you a clean mattress. Y’know, when I went through withdrawal, I tried to figure out why I was taking drugs, why I was being so self-destructive.”

“Yeah, and?”

He makes sure he’s not touching Andrew. “I gotta tell you the truth, Andrew. I hate your father. And that’s why I want to help you, if you’ll let me. He’s your dad, and I know you have family loyalty-”

“You and me ain’t that different,” is the tiny response. “What’d he do to you?”

“He humiliated me, hurt me. He hurt me real bad. He’s part of the reason I need the cane right now. But,” putting his hand on the back of Andy’s head, he lets his fingers play with the strands as his palm makes small circles, “We don't have to. You know? We don’t have to take drugs. We don’t have to kill ourselves to pay him back. He doesn’t deserve to have that kind of control over our lives.”

“I was alone when I was going through withdrawal. You aren’t this time. But I’m only doing it this time. It’ll take a few days, some more hard nights, but we’re going to get through this. Alright?”

Sniffling, Andy nods. “Thanks, man.”

Getting more comfortable, he carefully guides Andy to half-lay against him, and keeping his hands making soft circles on Andy’s scalp and back, he says, “You’re gonna be all right now. It’s all gonna be all right.”

…

They’re heading to breakfast when Andy and Saïd bump into one another, and one of the books Saïd’s carrying falls.

“Watch it, you-”

“Hey!” Picking up the book, he hands it to Saïd. “Sorry.” Then, grabbing Andrew by the back of the neck, he says, “At the risk of rewarding bad behaviour by sending mixed messages, I’m going to buy you some candy bars, and then, we’re going to talk about the right way to handle certain situations. C’mon.”

Andy silently, obediently, almost like a puppy, allows himself to be led.

In the cafeteria, he sees O’Reily and Chris are laughing together. He doesn’t see Vern, and this is probably good.

After they get breakfast along with some candy bars and sit down, he takes a breath. “If you want to join the Aryans, that’s your call. You can move back in with one of your dad’s friends. But if you’re going to be my podmate, I expect you to not do stuff that could get me killed.”

“Saïd, he’s a moral, reasonable man, but most people in this place aren’t. And the blacks, Hispanics, Italians, all of them, if you go around calling them certain names, most of them won’t settle for calling you names back. Now, look, if someone tries to physically hurt you, by all means, fight back. But bumping into someone, someone bumping into you, you don’t try to turn that into a fight.”

Pausing in his wolfing down the candy bars, Andrew studies him. “You really think he’s- a moral and reasonable man?”

“I do. Saïd’s in here for arson. He didn’t hurt anyone. Now, I do agree that arson being a crime is right, but the truth is, if he weren’t black, he would have rightfully gotten a much lighter sentence, ended up in a better place than this, if not been given heavy probation or a suspended sentence. Other than this, though, Saïd is a very intelligent man. He’s helped other prisoners with legal aid.”

Taking a sip of his juice, he continues, “You know, uh, I was a lawyer. He would have made a great one. Might have been better than I was.”

Letting himself sigh, he finishes, “If that isn’t enough, there’s this: When I first came here, when your dad was hurting me, Saïd and the Muslims were against everyone white in here. I wouldn’t say he ever went out of his way to help me. But he was one of the few people who spared me some genuine kindness. If you want to stay in my pod, you don’t instigate trouble, and you don’t do anything to mess with Saïd.”

“I understand,” is the quiet reply.

“Good.” Making sure his movements are slow, he puts a hand over Andrew’s forehead. “You’re doing better than I did. My first day of withdrawal, I kept seeing fire behind my eyes. Why don’t you try to eat some of the other? The oatmeal might help keep the candy from coming back up.”

…

The oatmeal does not keep Andy from heaving his guts out, but on the positive side, some of it happens on Andy’s bunk, and this is an even better way than spilling juice to get him a clean mattress without anyone knowing what happened the night before.

Pressed against the wall with his head hung, Andy pants against his tears.

Easing down beside him, he settles his hand on the back of Andy’s neck. “I know. I do. I’m sorry you’re going through this. But hey, Andy, I want you to remember this, okay? Things aren’t going to be easy here. When you get out, if you do, they won’t be easy outside, either. You have a choice, though. You can either try your best to learn how to cope with all this shit inside, with all the stuff people are going to throw at you, in ways that don’t cause more pain, or you can go through this again.”

“I don’t want to go through this again,” Andy sniffles.

Grabbing some toilet paper, he manoeuvrers Andy’s head up, and after wiping his face, he opens the juice. “Slow sips.”

Andy complies.

“Sister Peter Marie helped me. If you let her, she can help you. Tomorrow, group meets again. Give it a try this time. I don’t always agree with everything she says, everything she thinks, everything she wants me to do, but I trust and respect her. Give her a chance. You’re not going to find anyone else, except possibly Father Mukada, who will look at you and see someone worthy of help.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. There are people much worse than us in here. But Sister Pete, she sees humanity in even the worst monsters. I don’t mean werewolves and-”

“You’re not a monster. It’s something else my dad was wrong about, all that crap he said about shifters. You have humanity. But some people, they don’t.”

“Well, that’s debatable. Personally, I can’t help but sometimes agree. Carrying around hate, however, that’s another thing I’ve learned isn’t good. I’ve never hated someone for the colour of their skin, for being a vampire, for having different religious beliefs than me, but there are people, people other than your dad, I’ve hated. It-”

He considers his words. “The honest truth is, it’s helped me on occasion. It made me strong enough to do what I needed to do. It pushed me into doing things I would have been scared to do otherwise. In the end, though, the cost was too heavy for me.”

“How did you make it stop?”

“I still hate your dad. I don’t think that’s something I can ever let go of. When it came to other people, I realised I could let them keep controlling me by being this person I didn’t like, or I could focus on being the person I wanted to be. I don’t like or forgive them, but I try to keep them out of my life and not spare any thoughts towards them one way or another.”

Andrew nudges closer against him, and putting an arm over Andy’s shoulders, he gives a gentle squeeze.

…

“Keller!”

Looking from the weights he’s lifting, Chris sees Vern charging over. “Hey, Vern, how’s it hanging?”

“I need to talk to you right now.”

“Alright.” Putting the weights down, he and Vern go over to a more secluded part of the gym, and he isn’t surprised when Vern slams him against the wall.

“What’s Beecher up to with my son?”

“Beecher ain’t talking to me. You want my guess, he’s still the same do-gooder he was coming in, and nothing short of killing him will change that.”

Vern’s words make it clear he’s angry, he doesn’t believe him, and his hatred for Toby hasn’t abated in the slightest.

He’s tired of this. He knows Toby isn’t having sex with the kid; even if Toby would be willing to seduce Andrew in order to strike at Vern, Toby wouldn’t right now, not when little Andrew is tripping over his own feet, head still foggy from drugs, but he did see Toby helping the kid up onto the top bunk, probably held the little bastard all night.

Toby’s promised they’ll talk, and he has to hope this cold, eerily calm Toby will keep to it. He doesn’t miss the nursery rhymes or random fits of giggles, and he’s glad the nightmares don’t seem to have made a reappearance yet, but he misses the warmth, the passionate babbling about shit he doesn’t understand, the soft looks, the smacks upside the head that he didn’t deserve but were proof Toby wasn’t scared of or shy around him.

Besides this, Angelique is thinking of getting remarried, and her nieces and nephew don’t like this new guy. Some of what her youngest niece has said, though, it makes him wonder if the guy might be an actual threat to any of them or her, and he’s only killed one person, but if he has to take out a hit, so be it.

All this, he really doesn’t have time or patience for Vern.

Knocking Vern’s hands off him, he says, “Look, I told you, it’s over. I paid my debt. Beecher hates you more than anyone or anything, Vern, but he’s also a bleeding heart, and boy, does your boy fit the target for that. As long as your boy ain’t a,” he uses a three-letter word, “he should be fine. He is, though, then, maybe you have something to worry about.”

And he wishes he hadn’t just said that.

He tries to tell himself, outside of a strike against Vern, Toby would never be interested in a messed up punk like Andrew in such a way, but- Toby has a shit record with people. His selfish wife tried to kill herself despite his kids, their kids, needing her, Vern fooled and then hurt him, he’s friends with O’Reily, then, there’s he himself last of all.

“It’s not over. You’re going to help me kill Beecher.”

“Yeah, it is. But for old time’s sake, here’s some advice: You wait to go after him. Seems your boy is doing better. Fragile place, though. Beecher will make him stronger. Once he’s clean, got his temper under control, then, you give him the choice, you or Beecher.”

…

“Here’s the thing,” Toby says. “Ryan O’Reily is and isn’t a friend. I like him. He’s agreed to get you on kitchen detail with him, and he will look out for you right now. But O’Reily can get a person into a lot of trouble if they aren’t careful. If he tries to talk you into breaking any rules, don’t. And if anyone starts a fight with him or he starts a fight with anyone, get the hell away. Again, I like him, but he is not worth getting hurt over. He wouldn’t do the same for you.”

Andy nods. “I understand.”

“Yo, Beecher. You talking about me?” Coming over, O’Reily sits down.

“Just warning Andrew here not to do anything stupid.”

Laughing, O’Reily takes out a deck of cards. “What’s your game of choice, Andy boy?”

He suddenly feels completely sorry for Andy, and it only grows when Andy says, “I only know how to play Go Fish.”

Andy tried so hard to keep his tone neutral, but he utterly failed.

Christ, Schillinger, you couldn’t even take enough time to teach your kid some card games? Why didn’t he, at least, have some friends to teach him?

“You might do good at 500.” O’Reily looks at him.

“Yeah. No stakes.”

“No stakes. The goal is to…”

They play, and once Andy gets the hang of the rules, he does good.

“Beecher and I usually play chess. My podmate and Beecher’s old one, Chris Keller, he’s more of a checkers type. What about you?”

Andy simply shakes his head. “I’m not good at anything.”

“Everyone’s good at something,” O’Reily replies. “You’re doing okay at this. You into any sports?”

“No. I, uh, I liked playing basketball in a park when I was a kid, but- I don’t even know if I was any good or not, but my dad made me stop. There were nig-” Andy glances at him. “Black people there. My brother, Hank, he was in track for a little while, but me, well, I fall.”

“We’ll see how you do at wrestling and boxing.”

“And by ‘we’, O’Reily means not Beecher,” he says.

O’Reily grins. “You can referee.”

Unfortunately, O’Reily and Andy are sitting too close together for him to be sure a kick would land on the former.

This wouldn’t stop him from smacking O’Reily’s head, but the sudden smell of Schillinger mixed with Keller invading his nose does.

…

Great, Toby actually looks something approaching happy, Chris thinks.

This would be good if not for the fact he’s about to be the one who makes that look disappear. Again.

When he goes over to the table Toby, O’Reily, and Andrew are playing at, Toby looks up with a wrinkled nose.

“Hey, Toby. Yeah. That’s what I need to talk to you about.”

Shaking his head at Andrew’s confused look, Toby squeezes his shoulder. “Hey, don’t let him cheat, okay?”

“No one’s ever proved I’ve cheated,” O’Reily declares.

…

Bringing his chair, they go into his and Andy’s pod, and shutting the door, Keller takes the other chair.

“Vern wants you dead.”

“That’s not news.” Glancing over at Andy, he asks, “What about his kid? Do you think Schillinger really would try to hurt him?”

“That’s all Vern’s ever done.”

Admittedly, this is a good point.

“You care about him.”

Not sure what to make of Keller’s tone, he turns fully back towards him. “We’re not killing Andy. I don’t particularly care about him, but he doesn’t have the strong personality Vern does. He’s manageable.”

“I’ve never understood ‘strong personality’ meaning loud or outgoing. You and Bonnie, you’re both usually quiet and reserved, but you both have very strong personalities.”

God help him, Keller’s starting to say genuinely interesting things again.

“Strong personality doesn’t exactly necessarily translate into loud or outgoing. It’s more about- people with strong personalities, the only way they’re getting down on their knees is if they want to. And some of them, they’re good people, but the ones who aren’t, the ones like Vern, they enjoy forcing others weaker than them down.”

“You didn’t know me on the outside, and I don’t know Bonnie. She might be a person with clearly defined thoughts and feelings who stands her ground, but I wasn’t. In some ways, I never will be. Neither will Andy. His dad pushed him around, he turned to drugs to escape, and now, I’m going to have to look out for the little bastard even after Schillinger is dead, because, once Schillinger is, other people are going to start trying to push him around. Anyway, is he planning anything in particular?”

“Right now, he does want his boy clean. I think he’s going to try to recruit Andrew before trying anything against you. All the same, Toby, you need to be careful.”

“I will. Think you can get some gym time tomorrow?”

Surprise and a hint of uneasiness rolls off Keller, and he remembers exactly who he’s talking to.

“Yes.”

“Good. We’re trying to find something productive for Andy to channel his energy into. Wrestling and boxing were suggested.”

“By you or O’Reily?”

“Does it matter?”

“No,” is the quiet, unhappy response.

Keller leaves.

…

“Would you say Toby has a strong personality?”

“In many ways, what constitutes a strong personality is a matter of opinion. Do you believe he does?”

“Well, what’s your definition of one?”

“What’s brought this on?”

“Would talking to the nun part of you go any better for me?”

She makes a small sound of amusement. “I could tell you about various saints with strong personalities.”

He leans further back in his chair. “I threatened to dunk his head in the toilet. After his wife’s suicide attempt. And yes, I can actually make that to where I sound better. I- He has a bad habit of saying shit about himself. I wouldn’t have really done the dunking, but I wasn’t going to just sit around letting him. And before the gym, it was working.”

“Before the gym?”

“Before Vern and I broke his arms and legs.”

She nods. “Does this mean you and Tobias have been talking recently? Or have you just heard him talking to others?”

“Both. Schillinger’s kid is Beecher’s new puppy, and he’s trying to find something to get the kid involved in. Me, them, and O’Reily are going to meet in the gym tomorrow after your group. O’Reily can’t wrestle for shit, might end up accidentally breaking some bones, and hey, I’m not going to break any bones in a crowded gym.”

“Do you disagree with Tobias trying to help Andrew?”

He shrugs. “I killed one person, and it wasn’t because of the colour of his skin. Bullet through- hell, I don’t even know where the bullet went, but I’d rather go out with a bullet than being dragged by a moving truck. I understand, though, what you did out there doesn’t matter as much as what you do in here.”

“Vern never would have tried to get me to help his boy. Because, I don’t hate him, but I wouldn’t have had the patience to deal with little Andy’s shit. But Beecher hates him, he hates Beecher, and everyone can see Andrew Schillinger has already made a marked improvement with only a little bit of exposure to Toby. This’ll keep Toby safe for a little longer, but- I’d bet money part of Toby is loving how much this is getting under Schillinger’s skin, and if that was all, good for him.”

“Instead, he’s doing this, because, he really feels a sense of pity for poor little,” he’s impressed by her unflinching reaction to the words used, “Andrew. He wants to believe, maybe, the man who did horrible things to me, maybe, his blood, the pathetic result of his seed, has hope. Could turn out to have some good in him. I don’t really understand why he feels this, but he does.”

“Do you understand why he says disparaging things about himself?”

“Because, he hates himself.” He can’t help but laugh. “I believe in God, but I’m not religious. I try to focus on this life, not whatever might happen next. Gotta tell ya, though, I’ve always found the Golden Rule to be either stupid or outright evil.”

Giving him a considering look, she leans forward. “Oh?”

“Look at Beecher, he can be a real nice guy. Do you want him treating anyone the way he- Backing up a little, I told him once, I don’t care what people believe. They treat me right, I treat them right. I don’t expect them to care what I believe. The difference between he and I is that I see myself clearly. The person he sees when he looks in a mirror doesn’t exist. He’d really like himself if he met him on the street. He just wouldn’t believe it was him.”

“And this genuinely frustrates you.”

“I broke his arms. I watched Schillinger break his legs. I got no right to- If he’s going to say shit about himself, my options are listen or leave, and right now, the second isn’t on the table. Yeah, it frustrates me. At least, before, when I could stop him from saying it, there was a chance I could eventually stop him from thinking it. From believing it.”

He rubs his face. “Nothing about how conning people doesn’t measure up with treating them right?”

“For right now, I’m going to point out there are similarities between Andrew and Tobias.”

Managing to keep his reaction down to a scoff, he says, “They’re both addicts. And I guess the fact Vern’s screwed them both over big is there, but Vern, as much as he can, does love Andy. He’d be happy if his boy was a clean-cut lawyer with three beautiful kids. It’s just he’s the worst father anyone could possibly have. Other than that, there’s nothing similar about them.”

“Have you met Tobias’s children?”

“No, never seen ‘em.” Toby doesn’t even have pictures of them. He can understand why, he sure as hell isn’t bringing any pictures of Angelique’s nieces and nephew into a place like Oz, but it’s still sad.

“You just said they’re beautiful.”

“Yeah, they’re his. What else would they be?”

She fiddles with her glasses. “You haven’t answered whether you believe Tobias has a strong personality or not.”

“Yeah. But he doesn’t. I- My ex-wife, Bonnie, I never saw her yell. We’d go out to eat, and she’d tell me what she wanted, I’d order for her. This drunk frat boy once attacked her, and she broke his arm. Pure self-defence. Cleaned her face, went right back to helping some other student who needed to get some paper in by two o’ clock. I didn’t even know all of this had happened until she came home that night.”

“Beecher, he’s more emotional than she’s ever been. And I don’t mean emotional in a bad way. I just mean he feels things, and he feels them strongly. But he’s quiet most of the time. He’ll back down a lot of times if he’s cornered. But just like her, he has all this stuff swirling in his head, and look at what he’s doing. Most people don’t decide to help the kid of the man who did what Vern did.”

A slight smile crosses her face. “Here’s a fun fact: A silk handkerchief can stop a bullet. Many people consider the quiet, the shy, the gentle to be weak. Some of them are. But for some of them, when they choose to talk, their words are important. People who are shy, when they let someone in, they rarely do so lightly. And whereas, some people are naturally gentle, other people make the choice to focus their strength on spreading calm and peace through the world.”

“That’s beautiful, Sister. Do you think you could tell that to Toby, see if it might help?”

“I try my best to help everyone here, including Tobias. Now, unfortunately, I have another session in five minutes. Same time tomorrow?”

…

“Toby?”

Setting his book aside, Toby slips down. “You doing okay?”

Andy’s forehead is still a little warm, but there’s no fever.

“Um, can I-” Hesitation and fear rolls heavy off Andy.

“It’s okay.” Easing himself onto the bunk, he gently squeezes the back of Andy’s neck. “Whatever it is, you can talk to me.”

“I wasn’t looking, but in the showers, on- the-” Andy glances down.

“You saw the swastika?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s okay,” he repeats. “I mean, it’s not okay that it happened, but it’s okay that you saw, and it’s okay that you’re asking. That was your father, too. My first night here. A combination of fire and green wolfsbane.”

“How can you not hate me?”

“You haven’t done anything to me.”

There’s some irritation in the look Andy shoots him.

Trying not to laugh, he leans back. “I have three kids. I killed a little girl. My oldest, my only daughter, she’s going to be the same age that that little girl was soon. My first son, he’s a sweet little boy, quiet and a little shy. And the youngest, my baby boy, he’s not going to be a baby by the time I’m out. He’s not going to really know me.”

“I worry about them. Their mom hasn’t coped very well with me being here. My parents and grandmother are great, but- Anyway, one of the things I worry about is that, when they get older, they might have to suffer for what I did. It wasn’t them who got behind the wheel drunk. It wasn’t them who killed that little girl. Still, some people might think badly of them, assume they’re trouble because of who their father is.”

“But they haven’t done bad things. I’ve done bad things, just like my dad. You know I have.”

“Your father is never going to change, Andy. I’m not saying he’s incapable; I’m saying he never will. If you want to, you can. Now, whether you will or won’t, that’s up to you, but unless you do something to me or someone I care about, I’m not going to hold anything you did outside or anything he’s done against you.”

“I’m scared.”

Pulling him into a side hug, he asks, “What are you scared of?”

“I don’t know. Everything.”

“This place’ll do that to you. My advice is, follow the rules as best you can unless you have a good reason not to. Be very careful with who you trust, but try not to make any enemies. You don’t have to trust or even like someone to live in peace with them. Then, when you get out, just like when you were wetting the bed and throwing up, remember this fear. Learn from it so that you never have to live through it again.”

“Thank you.”

…

Aside from Keller and O’Reily almost getting into a fist fight, the gym outing went well.

Andy’s a better wrestler than he ever was (and even before Keller revealed his true colours, he knew Keller often let him have more of an advantage than he truly did), and the emotions pouring off Vern Schillinger as he watched-

He’s going to enjoy this for as long as he can.

Looking at his watch, he nudges Andy. “I have a visitor today. I’m going to get ready. If Keller comes back-” He isn’t sure how to finish.

“Don’t encourage them, but if they start again, don’t get between them,” Andy says with an amused look at the irritated O’Reily.

“Good.” He ruffles Andy’s hair. “And good job in group today.”

In the pod, he changes into his suit, and he hopes Keller will stay wherever Keller wandered off to long enough to not make an issue out of this.

Don’t do this, part of him says.

I have to, a different part says.

Combing his hair, he takes a deep breath.

…

In the visiting room, Genevieve looks beautiful.

Hoping his smile is natural, he goes over.

Standing up, she nervously holds out a large plastic dish of Johnny Marzetti, and he manages not to sigh.

“You shouldn’t have.”

“It wasn’t any trouble.”

“Thank you.” He motions for her to sit, and following suit, he asks, “How have you been doing?”

“Better. What about you?”

“The same. I’ve been staying out of trouble. What about the kids? Have you seen them recently?”

“Yes. I saw them on Saturday. Harry’s completely on solids now, and Holly and I went shopping. We picked out her first lipgloss. Gary, he had his first sleepover. Here,” she pulls out some pictures.

Looking at them, his heart aches, and he feels dangerously close to crying.

“You could keep them.”

“No, but thank you.” He lays them down on the table so that he can see them for the rest of the visit.

“Tobias, I’m sorry.”

Nodding, he looks up. “Gen, you don’t need to apologise.”

“Yes, I do. Um,” she takes a deep breath, and he squashes the urge to touch her hand. “I was wrong, it was horrible what I did.”

She doesn’t believe this, he realises, and he doesn’t know how he feels about this.

He decides it doesn’t matter. She is the mother of his children. She is the woman he once loved.

Where did that love go? Was it gone before he was laying in body casts and directing his proxy to sign the divorce papers? Did it vanish when he was told Holly had found Harry squalling in his crib, taken Gary to find her, turned off the car, managed to drag her inside, called 911, and then, realised her brother had run away from the house and ran out to find him, thankfully had, coaxed him into Harry’s room, sat with her unconscious body talking to the dispatcher until the police and ambulance came?

“I was hurt,” he says. “But I understand you were, too. I’m sorry for my part in that. The most important thing,” he gently runs a finger over the pictures, “is these three. Whatever I can do to help, I will. Okay?”

Biting her lip, she nods. “My parents want them to come live with us during the summer, but your parents and grandmother aren’t sure about this.”

“I’ll talk to them.”

“Good. I’m doing better, Toby. My psychiatrist has me on antidepressants, and I’ve been working as a typist at Uncle Bill’s. I didn’t want to- My thinking wasn’t clear, but I didn’t realise this. I honestly thought your parents were going to pick up Holly and Gary that day, and I knew when I didn’t call, one of them would come and find Harry. He was supposed to stay asleep for a few more hours. Still- I never should have mailed you that letter.”

He takes a deep breath. “Gen- We both could have handled all this better, especially me. I have a lot of regrets. I don’t want to add to yours. Focus on the kids, alright, and I’ll focus on getting out of here and trying to help in whatever I can before I do. Once I do, we’ll figure out what the next best step for them is.”

“Good.” She squeezes his hand, and he doesn’t flinch.

Why did I marry you, he wonders. Why did you marry me? Were we ever in love, either of us, or-

“Visiting hour will be over soon. You should go, get out on the road before everyone else starts to leave and traffic gets bad. When you talk to the kids, tell them that I love them.”

Sadness rolls off her, and the honesty of her response, “I always do,” makes him short of breath.

She kisses his cheek. “I don’t want to add to your regrets, either. They love you and miss you, Toby, and I promise you, for all I haven’t handled this right, I have tried to make sure they understand how much their daddy loves them and is trying his best to come home to them.”

Standing up, he gently pulls her into a hug, and she nuzzles against him.

Kissing her head, he gathers up the pictures. “Don’t worry, Genevieve. We can all get through this. Drive safely, and call when you get home, okay?”

…

Keller has come back, and the three are playing cards.

“Stop letting him win,” O’Reily grumbles.

Keller protests he’s not, and as far as he can tell, Keller’s telling the truth, though, Andrew himself isn’t sure.

“Look, his old man’s decent at cards. Probably where he gets it from.”

“You’ve played cards with my dad?”

“Yeah.”

“K-boy’s story with your old man isn’t as bad as Beecher’s, but there is one,” O’Reily says.

Coming over, he sets the dish, plates, and sporks down. “Andy, O’Reily, if you want some of this, eat your fill. The rest goes to Sister Pete.”

Andy looks with wide-hungry eyes, and O’Reily asks, “Where’d the hell did this come from, Beech?”

“My ex-wife.”

He can’t keep ignoring Keller’s inner reactions anymore, but he’s not going to outwardly acknowledge them.

“Your ex?”

“Yeah. When I was in the infirmary.”

Fixing a smaller plate for Andy, O’Reily sceptically asks, “And you’re not having any?”

“No, I don’t really care for it.”

Poor Andy would really like to just be able to eat the hot, home-cooked meal presented to him without any confusion. “Then, uh, why did-”

“She doesn’t know I don’t care for it.”

Keller _might_ have been quiet, but through a mouthful, O’Reily mutters, “Don’t see how you can’t, f’kin’ delicious, man.”

He shrugs. “I told her once about my grandmother making it for my dad’s birthday, and she missed the part where I said I didn’t understand it being his favourite. She thought it was one of mine. So, she learned how to make it and served it once almost every week until- well, I killed Cathy Rockwell.”

“Let me get this straight,” Keller irritably waves away the bite O’Reily offers him, “you were married for what, about fifteen years, dating for several before that, and in all that time, you never told her she’d misunderstood a story you told? You kept eating something you didn’t care for all that time?”

He winces. “Put it like that- yeah.”

Thank you, Chris. If ever I come close to having a day where I don’t think I’m pathetic, I’m sure you or Vern or someone will always be there to remind me, he thinks

In truth, he’s not even angry. He’d realised the patheticness all on his own when he walked into the visiting room.

Keller reaches over to smack him, but O’Reily blocks the motion.

“Can- is he having some?”

He realises they’re doing the opposite of helping Andy. He imagines Andy has been the kid listening to the adults fight and bicker and possibly, likely, knowing Vern, come to blows too many times.

“I don’t know, Toby, am I,” is Chris’s razor-sharp response.

Hoping his smile is calm and normal, he tells Andy, “I gave it to you and O’Reily. You can do whatever you want with it.”

Taking Andy’s plate, O’Reily transfers a little to Keller’s before transferring a slightly bigger amount from his own to Keller’s and handing the plate back to Andy.

Keller genuinely likes the food, he can tell.

“So, what exactly was the Beecher logic in you doing this?”

“Logic is logic. There’s no people logic separate from regular.” Still, at the look both Andy and O’Reily give him, he realises this won't end until he gives more, and adjusting himself in his chair, he answers, “I don’t know. We’d just started dating, and my amazing girlfriend taught herself how to cook this whole dish just for me.”

“Then, we were exclusive, then, married, and that- I realised it was something I should have brought up a long time ago, but I didn’t want to cause problems so early in our marriage. And my dad was always so excited whenever we’d have them over and she’d make it, and once the kids came, they loved it. What was I going to do, ask her to make me a separate meal after she’d been busting her ass looking after them all day? I could have made one for myself, but after work, I was tired, burnt out, and hey, I don’t hate it. It was a hot meal.”

…

At supper, Andy grumbles, “I don’t like this game.”

“It’s good strategy, teaches logical thinking,” O’Reily says. “You want to survive here, you need to get smarter, Andy boy. Beecher won’t be around to hold your hand forever.”

He smacks O’Reily’s head.

“I’m with him, this is a stupid-ass game,” Keller grumbles.

“Can’t always rely on breaking bones to solve your problems,” comes out before he can stop it, and he instantly regrets it.

Thankfully, Murphy’s voice interrupts any response Keller might have with, “Why aren’t you three eating?”

“Me,” he answers. “I visited my ex-wife earlier, and she brought food. Seeing her, though- I wasn’t hungry. I gave it to these two,” he motions, “and they gave some to him.”

“Good enough.” Murphy walks away.

…

He’s brushing his teeth when Andy asks, “Toby, you don’t like Keller, do you?”

Spitting, he shakes his head. “No. You remember how I said that I like O’Reily but have limited trust in him?”

In the mirror, Andy nods.

“Well,” he turns, “Keller, he was- I thought we were friends. I trusted him more than anyone but Sister Pete. And he betrayed me. Right now, O’Reily’s been helping us, and since he’s not going to stop hanging with Keller while he is, tolerating his presence is a necessity.”

“Did my dad hurt him, too?”

“I don’t know.”

“Would it make a difference if my dad had?”

“Not to me. I was loyal to him. I would have done almost anything for him. And,” he tries not to scoff or chuckle, “I didn’t even expect that in return. I was never going to ask him for anything big. I was just happy to have a friend, and I thought he felt the same. I’ll probably never fully understand why he hurt me, but then, I don’t want to understand. He did, and that’s that.”

Nodding, sadness radiates off Andy.

“You need anything? Doing okay?”

Giving a small scoff, Andy bats his hand away. “Yeah. I mean, no, I don’t need anything. It’s- I haven’t been this clean is in a long time. It’s scary, but part of it feels so good, too.”

“Yeah.” He climbs up onto his bed. “I hope the fear eventually goes away for you. I hope you get to a point where you can have days where you don’t think about drugs at all. It might take a long time, but maybe, it’s possible. I’m here if you need me.”

“Thanks, Toby.”

…

Chris is in the gym with O’Reily and Andrew, and the latter whines, “I’ll just trip over my feet.”

He sometimes feels sorry for the kid, and he sometimes can’t exactly blame Vern.

“If you do, then, you get back up,” O’Reily says. “Look, Andy boy, jumping rope isn’t for pussies. My little bro, before he got his mind messed up, he was a boxer, and he could a hundred or so in less than five minutes. That being said, though, lots and lots of elementary school girls learn how to do it quick with the ones who fall usually only doing it a few times before they get the hang. Try it.”

Clearly fearing for his mostly faded black eye, Andy nevertheless obeys, and he and O’Reily go over to the weights.

They sit, and then, stopping his movements, O’Reily says, “Before you pick those up, we need to talk.”

Leaning back, he says, “Alright.”

“I’m guessing you haven’t heard about Beecher.”

“Heard what? He was fine this morning.”

Was he, though? Toby had seemed fine. He and the kid had had a discussion about whether cheese oatmeal is a Jew food or not (if he’d been part of the conversation, he’d say, one, you will never win an argument against a _lawyer_ , kid, and two, your father is probably lactose intolerant, not that Aryan Vern would ever admit such a thing, and three, Toby, stop fussing at him to eat it, he and his dad are right that it’s a shit food), and Toby’d eaten all of his own food.

“Beecher was with someone recently.”

The words are almost nonsensical. Toby is with someone every day. This is Oz.

But then, it hits him.

“If someone hurt-”

“That’s not what I said. He wanted it, Keller. Or at least, he made the decision to do it. When I heard about it, I talked to him. He really wouldn’t appreciate hearing I told you about this, but better me than the gossip mill, K-boy.”

“Who was it?”

At O’Reily’s scoff, he concedes, “Yeah, fair enough.” He takes a deep breath. “And you’re sure no one’s-”

“Look, this place is terrible, but the truth is, law-boy was an exception. Murphy,” he uses strong words, “hates rape. I can’t prove it and wouldn’t want to if even if I could, but I think he let an inmate be killed, ‘cause, it was undeniable the scumbag was guilty of raping a kid. Idiot had taped it and put it on some legit torture website.”

“Rape used to happen a lot here, but McManus got Em City, Murphy came, and a lot of it stopped. I don’t mean went underground, I mean, he wasn’t messing around. But then, with his grandma and stupid baby cousin, he wasn’t here when Beecher came, and Vern took advantage of this. Murphy usually lets people fooling around slide, but anything makes him suspicious not everyone is willing, he’s there.”

Wish he’d been at Lardner, is his irritable thought.

He brushes it aside.

“Thanks for telling me, O’Reily.”

“What are you going to do?” There’s weary resignation in O’Reily, and he finds that part unfair.

“If someone hurts him, I’ll kill them. Otherwise, I ain’t got no claim. At least, not yet.” He picks up the weights.

“Right, there’s no jealousy,” is the mocking response.

“If he were with me, it’d be so good, he wouldn’t want anyone else. I’d be so deep under his skin, even jerking off wouldn’t fully scratch the itch inside when he got the urge. Only me. So, nah, I’m not jealous. I don’t like it, but I’m going to focus on what he needs.” He glances over at where Andrew, though not having the easiest time lifting his feet at the right moment, has yet to fall. “Then, once he trusts me again, he’s gonna want me.”

“These delusions aren’t going to do you good.”

…

Toby doesn’t know what to make of Keller showing up at Sister Pete’s office, but he doubts it’s anything good.

“Chris,” Sister Pete greets. “Your session isn’t-”

“I’m not here to see you, Sister. Toby-” Keller glances between them. “I need to talk to him. That okay?”

“Something wrong with Andy?”

“No, he and O’Reily are both fine.”

“We can talk at lunch, then.”

“Toby, please.”

If I don’t, he’s going to- be Keller, he knows. He’s not sure what exactly this means, but- “Sister P?”

She looks between them. “Ten minutes, Tobias. If you aren’t back by then, I’m sending guards to find you.”

“Got it.”

“Got it,” Keller echoes. “Thanks, Sister.”

…

“In here.” He leads Keller into a nearby empty storage room. Spotting a chair, he takes it. “What do you want?”

“I heard you’ve been with someone recently.”

“I’m with someone everyday, 24/7. This is prison.”

At Keller’s exasperated look, he suddenly realises exactly what Keller means, and trying not to sigh, he curses himself for his stupidity in going into an empty storage room with the man who once broke his arms and legs.

“Oh, yeah. That. Look, if you have a claim to someone here, tell me their name, and I’ll tell you whether I was accidentally with that person or not. Otherwise-”

“Look, I know I don’t have a claim to you-”

“That’s right.” He doesn’t bother to temper the sharpness. “Even before the gym, you and I both agreed sex, a relationship, wouldn’t be good. We should just be friends. And you know, I was good with that. If you weren’t, which, obviously, you weren’t, you had several options. I would have preferred you either talk to me or just ignore me, maybe move to a different pod, but-”

His right arm spasms, and rubbing it, he inquires, “We clear?”

“Do you like him?”

“I don’t dislike him. As far as I know, no ties to the Aryans. I doubt you are, but if you’re sincerely worried about me, it was consensual. I’m divorced, I was in the infirmary for almost three months, and I thought, maybe, sex would- It felt good.”

Keller doesn’t outwardly wince, but inside, he doesn’t like hearing this. It’s almost painful to him, and there’s rolls of regret and frustrated sadness.

Or this is what Keller is successfully projecting.

“Just be careful, Toby.”

Not bothering to repress his scoff, he leaves.

…

“Trust me, the library is the one place your dad won’t look for you. And if he does somehow end up here, just don’t leave with him,” Ryan says.

Andy nods. “Thanks.”

“Me, Keller, or Beecher will come get you before lunch. Don’t piss off anyone.”

After Andy’s settled at a table in the corner with some books on boxing and a pack of cards, Ryan leaves, and Andy plays solitaire until some of the Muslims come in.

He watches as Saïd hands books to them, and he watches as one of them nearly trips over a chair. The man manages to steady himself, but the books go flying everywhere.

They all pitch in to pick them up, but one is left unseen under a bookshelf.

After a moment of hesitation, he walks over, and they tense but otherwise don’t acknowledge him. Digging the book out, he holds it out for Saïd.

There’s heavy hesitation, but motioning to the others, Saïd takes it. “Thank you.”

Nodding, Andy takes a breath. “Um, could I ask you a question? Muslim food and Jewish food, in a lot of ways, they’re the same, aren’t they? Is cheese oatmeal Jewish?”

There’s angry muttering, and one of them starts to take a step forward, but stopping this one with a hand on the chest, Saïd studies Andy for a long moment. “There’s often an interlap between Kosher and halal foods, yes. Cheese oatmeal is usually acceptable for Jewish people to eat. However, during Passover, a Jewish time of religious observance, it may not be. Does that answer your question?”

“Maybe. I don’t really know, but uh, thanks, man.”

Andy goes back to his table.

…

Lifting up the copying paper, Chris feels a twinge of danger.

He hears sounds, and he knows someone is on the prowl.

Turning off the light, he grabs a stack of papers. Some part of him thinks silence might be the safest, give him the most advantage, but instead, he challenges the coward who’d attack an unarmed man in a storage closet.

Of course, a small part of him just has to point out: And you wouldn’t do the exact same thing?

He has the defence of, he actually never has, but Christ, he can see the faces of everyone from Toby, his ex-wives, Sister Peter Marie, and even Schillinger, knows exactly how they’d look if he tried to employ such a defence.

Someone grabs him from behind, and as the shank goes in, he feels something in his fingers. A necklace, a bracelet, something, he can’t form a picture of the symbol in his mind. He tightens his fingers around it, tries to press it deeper into his palm, so that, if he dies, maybe, it’ll be a clue.

Oh, I might die, hits him as he falls forward.

The symbol slips out of his fingers.

…

Toby’s waiting in the quad for the others when Saïd comes over. “Beecher.”

“Hey, Saïd.”

“I had an interesting exchange with your podmate, Andrew Schillinger, in the library earlier.”

“Oh, no.” His mind races trying to find the best way to out if Andy is okay while also apologising for whatever-

“He’s fine,” Saïd quickly says. “Beecher, it was a good exchange.”

“Good? Look, if he did anything, I’m truly sorry, but-”

Saïd sits down. “I wouldn’t harm him.”

“Yeah, I know you wouldn’t. Unless you were defending yourself, and I wouldn’t put it past him to make that necessary. Besides, some of the other Muslims, some of the homeboys-” He lets the sentence hang.

There’s a nod. “He’s showing signs of going down a much better path. Thanks to you.”

“I’m just trying to keep us both alive. If him not turning out to be as bad as his father results from that, good. What happened?”

Saïd tells him about one of the Muslims dropping books and Andy picking up one they missed. “It was a sign his heart is changing, Beecher.”

“It was a book,” he can’t help but counter. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad he didn’t say or, worse, do anything to offend or hurt any of you, but-”

“Do you dislike him the same way you do his father?”

He doesn’t mince words in saying, “I hate his father. And no.”

“From what I’ve gathered, Schillinger and, later, his own father isolated his two sons until the oldest ran away. Andrew stayed, but eventually, the hateful beliefs he’s always known spilled out into the world in a way tragic for both him and, most especially, his victim. However, now, kindness is starting to penetrate the walls built when he was too young to stop them.”

“I would urge you to believe there is a chance for him to change. He’s attached to you. He listens to and respects you.”

“Sorry, Saïd, but that won’t last much longer. Andy’s an addict with daddy issues. He’ll get stronger. Or I hope he will. Not run to drugs every time there’s a problem. And then- I’m not a strong person. He’ll hear the full extent of what his dad did, and even if he’s smart enough to not be as bad as Vern, he’s not going to have any respect for me.”

“You’re projecting how you see yourself onto him. There’s no point in denying you care about him, Beecher. Whether you see it or not, he returns these feelings. However, if all you ask of him is that he not cause trouble, if you don’t encourage the sincere changes happening inside of him, there’s a chance they’ll never truly take hold. If Tobias Beecher doesn’t truly believe in the equality of black and white and all humans and shifters, why should he fully throw away the beliefs he’s held for so long?”

He considers the words. “I’ll try to get him to do individual sessions with Sister Pete. If anyone can help encourage sincere changes, it’s her.”

“That would be good. I don’t see much of Schillinger in his actions. However, I’ve noticed something. Did he get sick after you bought him those candy bars?”

“Yeah. He was still in the terrible part of withdraw.”

“I have no doubt that was part of it. However, from what I’ve observed, Schillinger is likely lactose intolerant. I feel no need to bring this up to him, but if there’s a possibility his son is, too, you’d be helping Andrew by bringing this to his attention.”

It hits him this isn’t an out-of-nowhere observation. Andrew hadn’t been sick last night, but he’d definitely had a reaction to the food Gen brought. He’d chalked it up to Andy’s system not knowing how to handle such a healthy meal, natural, organic ingredients, little in the way of preservatives, cooked in a clean kitchen and oven, after prolonged exposure to Oz’s culinary delights.

“I’ll see about it.”

“Peace be upon you, Beecher.”

“And you.”

Saïd leaves, and a few minutes later, O’Reily and Andy appear.

“Sorry we’re late,” Andy says. “We don’t know where Keller is.”

“I doubt he’s escaped,” O’Reily says.

Trying to repress a groan, he goes with them to the cafeteria, and looking around, he relaxes when he spots a certain inmate.

“Who’s that,” O’Reily asks.

“No one important.” The important thing is: He’s alive and not being tortured by Keller.

Right, because, Keller would be jealous enough of someone being with you to do that, sarcastically goes through his mind.

“I need to talk to Andy in private for a minute. We’ll get our food soon.”

Shrugging, O’Reily goes to take his station.

Andy is nervous, and poor Saïd, if he truly believes he (Toby) is the right person to help Andy with anything but sobriety. He’s been sober for over a year, and he rarely has cravings anymore. But actually being a better person, if Andy wants that, he’ll need to find someone else.

Gently squeezing Andy’s neck, he says, “I heard about what you did in the library. Giving that book to Saïd. That was a good thing.”

Andy lights up both inside and out.

…

Back when he worked at Attica, Murphy could do things such as taking visiting family out to lunch without coming back to be informed a prisoner is in critical.

“What happened?”

Christ, he’s never liked Keller, but seeing him like this, a pale, almost small figure hooked up with IVs and a respirator-

“He was attacked.” Gloria hands him pictures of Keller’s back and a rough sketch of what the shank likely looked like. “There’s also this.” Raising one of Keller’s arms, she gently twists it so that his palm is visible, and he sees a vague imprint of something in the flesh. “Most likely, his attacker had on a piece of jewellery that he managed to make contact with.”

“How’d he get here specifically?”

“Andrew Schillinger and O’Reily set the guards onto looking for him. Apparently, there were plans for him to sit with them and Beecher, but when they came to get him from his work detail, it was realised he’d been unaccounted for, for sometime. Tim quietly had the K9s do a sweep, and they found him in storage room 43B1.”

She sighs. “If it’d been much longer, there’d be absolutely no hope.”

“And now?”

“He’s doing a little better than I would have expected, but unfortunately, there’s still a high risk.”

Gloria never outright finishes such sentences in front of patients, even if they’re unconscious.

“Why hasn’t shakedown and lockdown already been instigated?”

“I made the call as soon as I got him stabilised. I think one of my nurses made a call while I was.”

Biting back his irritation, he says, “Thanks, Gloria.”

Going over to the phone, _he_ makes the call. “Prime suspects are 92S110 Vernon Schillinger, and-” He hesitates. “Tobias Beecher.”

When he hangs up, Gloria raises an eyebrow at him.

Trying not to sigh, he says, “I have to do my job.”

…

“It’s not good to have kids on a leash like that, man,” O’Reily says.

Toby rolls his eyes. “So far, my kids have turned out fine.”

Andy, he can tell, privately agrees with O’Reily.

“Your dad ever do that with you and your brother?”

“No.” Andy fiddles with his cards. “Your ex-wife and her family are all humans right?”

Wondering where this is going, he answers, “Yes.”

“And your kids, they’re not werewolves yet, but humans leading around werewolves on a leash?”

O’Reily laughs. “Good point, Andy boy.”

“If either of you ever have children, enjoy chasing them down across a crowded place, trying to keep them out of a traffic-filled street, and having to hunt them down in stores, especially if you’ve got an actual infant in addition to the fussy or overly-adventurous toddler.”

“Yo, if I’d never do that to my little bro or let someone else, I sure as-”

“Oh, shit.” Looking at Andy, he says, “Don’t resist, and be quiet. If you’re asked something, answer, but otherwise, be quiet.” Meeting O’Reily’s eyes, he continues, “K9’s and some of SORT are coming.”

Echoing with a stronger curse, O’Reily asks, “You thinking shakedown or lockdown?”

“Both.” He can feel the anger and determination coming off some of them.

O’Reily gathers up the cards. “What, did someone get shanked?”

“Should we go into our pod,” Andy asks.

“No,” he answers.

Shakedown’s called, and he’s surprised to see his and Andy’s pod has clearly been specially targeted.

He’s less surprised when he ends up shoved down against the table he was just playing at.

“Toby!”

Managing to turn his head, he shakes it at Andy as he tells the officers pinning Andy against the wall with their nightsticks, “He’s not resisting.”

Hoping his expression remains calm, he tries to stave off any twitches as he’s given more than a standard patdown.

Behind him, he can hear his and Andy’s pod being absolutely torn up, and he wonders how many of his books are going to have all their pages by the time this is over.

He’s hauled up, and again catching Andy’s eyes, he says, “Andy, I’ll be back soon. Stay out of trouble while I’m gone.”

It’s hard to walk handcuffed and without his cane, but luckily, he’s gotten some of the less-sadistic hacks, and they simply ground him with a hard hand on his shoulder.

…

He’s given his clothes back, and as he’s putting them on, Murphy comes in. “Chris Keller was shanked.”

“Please, tell me Vern Schillinger did it.”

“You don’t seem surprised.”

“I was when I heard it. Looking for a shank, drugs, and some kind of jewellery. The first two are fair enough, but when have you ever known me to wear or even have jewellery, Murphy? And sure, I’m occasionally a little crazy, but have I ever done anything outright stupid even at my most craziest?”

He finishes getting dressed. “Could I have my cane back, too?”

“Yeah, in a minute.” Murphy sends one of the hacks outside to go get it. Then, turning to fully face him, he says, “You’ve done some things that weren’t exactly what I’d call smart.”

“I didn’t know about Keller being shanked until the middle of my cavity search.”

“You haven’t asked if he’s still alive.”

“Oz hasn’t gone into full lockdown,” he points out.

“Fair enough. But he might still die.”

He shrugs. “I told you, he doesn’t touch me, I won’t touch him. He hasn’t touched me.”

“It wasn’t Schillinger. Either Schillinger.”

“I could have told you it wasn’t Andy. Keller’s been shadowing O’Reily, and the kid likes both of them. Before you ask, no, I haven’t been happy about this, but I could just stop hanging out with O’Reily if this was a real problem.”

“Beecher, did you know anything about this?”

“No.”

Hearing the truth, Murphy rubs his forehead. “Then, we have no clue who might have done this or why.”

“Sorry, Murphy, but my usual sympathy for you is all dried up.”

…

They’re in lockdown.

“Keller did something really bad, didn’t he?”

“Not necessarily. Unfortunately, getting shanked is a possibility in this place no matter how good or bad someone is.” All of his books are fine, but he’s going to need to rewash all of his clothes soon to get the smell of dog breath and unfamiliar human and vampire hands off them.

“I mean to you. You were with Sister Marie until we came to get you. But you don’t care at all that this happened.”

“Peter Marie,” he corrects. Shit, if Murphy finds out about the ten minutes he was with Keller in an empty storage room- “Yeah, he did. He helped your dad break my arms and legs. Poison me. He pretended to be my friend, got me to trust him, and then, he did that.”

“Why do you let him anywhere near you?”

Andy’s tone is devoid of judgement, and it’d be less painful if it were filled with it.

“Because, I genuinely like O’Reily. Keller’s said he’s sorry. I don’t believe this, but if he tries to hurt me again, it’ll only be my body. I know who he is, now. Oz would be a better place without him, but if anyone gets lucky enough to make this happen, it won’t be me. He’s a good reminder of my personal failings.”

Sympathy, compassion, and discomfort at his bitterness radiate off Andy.

He finishes getting his sheets back on his mattress, and coming over, Andy helps him get it back on the bunk.

“Thanks.” Seeing Murphy is outside, he goes over to pound on the glass.

Jumping, Murphy turns, and giving him a look, Murphy stares.

He stares back until Murphy comes to have the door opened.

“I think Andy’s lactose intolerant, and I was going to take him to see Dr Nathan before all this happened.”

Behind him, Andy uncomfortably fidgets, and Murphy shakes his head. “He ain’t dying, he’s staying.”

“You’re going to have so much fun with Sister Pete. I don’t know the exact time Keller was shanked, but if I wasn’t in the bathroom or she wasn’t out of the office, me literally sitting right in front of her when it happened- Keep it up, Murph. If he has a reaction to the grilled cheese we’re getting tonight, it’ll be even more fun for you when I’m snappy after having to be in lockdown with him.”

“Watch it, Beecher.”

“Have fun,” he repeats.

…

The handcuffs are being taken off when Dr Nathan comes out. “Tobias?”

“Him, not me.” He nods to Andy. “I’m fine.”

He’s always impressed by how neutral her face and physical stance is. Inside, she’s inwardly groaning over having to deal with the neo-Nazi punk kid of this place’s worst neo-Nazi, but Andy absolutely doesn’t pick up on any of this.

A hack hands him his cane, and he suddenly finds himself looking at- Turning, he shoves the flood of feelings away.

“I think he’ll live.” Dr Nathan sympathetically squeezes his shoulder. “We all know how much your old podmate craves attention. Now, what about this new one? What can I do for you today, Schillinger?”

Dr Nathan has never believed Keller was a part of what happened to him in the gym, and of course, it makes sense she’d think he’d be worried, try to-

Still, he can’t fully help the shudder.

Thankfully, she’s already mostly focused on Andy.

“Andy, please,” is the soft response. “Or Andrew.”

She nods. “Okay, Andy. Why are you here?”

Andy helplessly gestures to him, and he explains.

“We’ll see. Come over here.”

As she leads Andy away, he spots a book on medical ethics, and when she turns, he holds it up. At her nod, he goes to an empty bed, and climbing up on it, he says, “I’ll be over here, Andy.”

He starts reading, but soon, the tiredness of everything catches up to him, his heartrate and breathing change, and he finds himself lying back and setting the book down to slip into sleep.

…

Andrew Schillinger, even with the crime that landed him here, shares very few similarities with Vern Schillinger, Gloria has quickly discovered.

He’s one of the ones she feels sorry for. If he’d had a half-decent parental figure in his life, he wouldn’t be here. A young man of colour might still be alive.

Maybe, she prays, his puppyish devotion towards Beecher will hold. She doesn’t know if it’s a crush or simply a lost young man latching onto one of the few people who’s ever showed him real decency, but if he’s not sucked back into his father’s web, there’s a chance the cycle of Schillingers putting hatred and pain out into the world, the world delivering it back, and so on will partially end.

“You are lactose intolerant, but luckily, you have a milder form than most adults your age with it do. I’m going to make a note in your file, and you’ll start getting modified meals. I want you back here in a week, okay?”

He nods.

“And,” she gets a box of lactase tablets, “take two of these. I-”

“Um- I’m an ad-addict.” Andy looks between her and Beecher with scared eyes.

“Right. Okay, look at me in the eyes.”

He does.

“These are safe, I promise. A little kid could buy them at a grocery store. They wouldn’t show up in a drug test, and more importantly, they’re not going to cause or worsen addiction. All they’re going to do is help your body deal with the changes being made to your diet.”

Still hesitant, he nevertheless swallows them down with a glass of water.

“Good. I’m going to see if I can have these delivered with your food for the next few days. I think you’re going to feel much better soon, Andy.”

“Thank you, Dr Nathan.”

Putting the box up, she looks over at Beecher and Keller. Keller’s vitals had spiked earlier, and she’d been surprised to learn they had risen and were much stronger and steadier. It’s not something she can judge without equipment, but from where she’s standing, it looks as if Beecher and Keller’s chests and stomach are rising and falling at the same time with the same rhythm.

Going over, she starts to take Beecher’s pulse, but he jumps before her fingers can fully wrap around his wrist.

Moving back, she says, “It’s just me, Beecher.”

Relaxing, he sighs, and bringing his hand up to check for drool, he looks over. “Andy?”

“You were right,” Andy says. “I’m going to be getting different food now, and- Dr Nathan gave me some medicine.”

She sees the fear Beecher tries to hide when he looks at her.

“Lactase.”

He relaxes again. “Yeah, those are safe.”

Finally, Andy fully relaxes.

“Anything else, doc?”

“Not for him. How are you doing?”

“Could be worse.”

Murphy comes in, and he has that look on his face no prison doctor wants to see on a CO’s face.

“Have fun with Sister Pete?” Beecher’s tone has a hint of maliciousness to it.

“Chewed my ass sideways,” is the sour response.

“Hey, there will be no pissing contests in my infirmary,” she firmly declares.

“Yes, Dr Nathan,” they respond.

Beecher starts to position his hands to be cuffed, but despite his sourness, Murphy shakes his head. “Come on, you two.”

She goes over to pick up her book, and then, looking over- “Beecher.”

He turns. “Yeah?”

She holds up the cane, and surprise crosses all three of their faces. Bringing it over, she notes, “You’re getting stronger.” Getting an idea, she adds, “When lockdown’s over, I might need some files delivered to and from Sister Peter Marie. Do you think you’d be up to that?”

“Yeah, of course, Dr Nathan.”

“Good.”

After they leave, she goes over to Keller. “And so,” she quietly says, “are you.”

…

Who knew getting shanked could be so painful?

He can’t quite hear the words, but he can hear the sarcasm Toby would have.

Taking slow, careful breaths, he manages to pull a shirt over himself.

“Do you have any idea who mighta done this,” Murphy asks.

“Schillinger senior is my first guess. Not the kid.”

“Schillinger has an alibi. Both of them. Now, the old man might have gotten someone to do it for him, but so far, we aren’t coming up with anything.”

He knows better than to shrug. “You know how Toby’s handling all this?”

Murphy hesitates. “In all honesty, not meant to jab at a man down, he doesn’t seem to particularly care.”

“Good. It’s not surprising. Someday, things are going to be better between us. Hopefully, he’ll never have to find himself worrying about me like-”

It wouldn’t be good to finish that sentence.

Dr Nathan comes over. “I’d like for you to stay for another day or two, Keller, but I can no longer justify threatening you with restraints.”

“Hey, you’re beautiful, doc, but I think O’Reily might be really missing me. Unless the rat bastard’s already hocked all my stuff, in which case, I’ll send him here, and he can have this bed.”

She laughs. “You will come back before lights out.”

He nods.

…

At lunch, Ryan and Andy are arguing over whether Pokemon or Yugioh card games are better (“I could call my prepubescent children and get their opinion,” had been Toby’s snarky response) when they start to sit down.

However, Toby pauses at the sight of Chris obviously barely holding himself up over his tray, and going over, he puts his hand over the back of Chris’s neck.

Chris jumps, but putting the other hand on Chris’s shoulder, Toby’s fingers curl lightly around the sides of the neck, and black veins run up his arm.

After a moment, there’s a sigh, and as Toby lets go, with movements much easier, Chris turns enough to look up at Toby.

When Toby sits down, Andy says, “You aren’t supposed to do that.”

“The reason is, because, the pain drain can potentially drastically shorten the life of the person whose pain is being taken. He’s in here for 88 years, 50 with good behaviour, and I’ve done it before for him. Back when we were friends. Or when I thought we were.”

Starting to eat, Andy nods. “It’s been loads better since I’ve started eating different.”

“Can’t believe your old man, your grandpa, big brother, no one noticed before,” Ryan comments. “Even before Cyril got hurt, I knew to watch out for him using Dove soap.”

Andy shrugs. “Having things wrong, allergies, things a school counsellor might think is wrong, stuff like that was for other people, not Schillinger men. Gramps needs glasses, but he ain’t getting them.”

“Well, that’s bullshit. Hey, Beecher, ain’t there Nazis who wore glasses during World War 2?”

“Yeah. The most famous is probably-” He looks over. “Speaking of.”

Schillinger comes over. “I need to speak with you.”

“Go ahead,” is Andy’s indifferent response.

“Over here.”

…

Toby listens as Vern says the things he should have said a long time ago: I’m proud of you. I want to have a father-son relationship with you.

“Not a chance.”

Good boy, he thinks.

“I gotta get back to my pals.”

“Hey, those are not the kind of men you should be hanging out with.”

“As opposed to who? Those standup individuals that make up your merry little band?”

He’s surprised but impressed by the sarcasm.

“I gotta tell you something, Dad, my whole life, you crammed into my head how superior we white folks are. How humans aren’t monsters like shifters are. I don't see the truth in that. I look around this room, and I see white faces, black faces, every color in between. The only thing I know for sure is that most of us, me included, is shit. Shit don't come in degrees. White or black, shit is shit. But Tobias Beecher, he’s helped me, even though he’d have every right to laugh at me suffering, and everyone he’s said is good, Dr Nathan, Sister Peter Marie, Kareem Saïd, I ain’t seen nothing to prove him wrong.”

Then, Andy tells his father what exactly Vern and his beliefs can do.

When he hears the shove, he rushes over. “Hey, kid’s made his position plain, Vern.”

He doesn’t duck quick enough to avoid the punch, and this sets Andy off. Before he can try to diffuse things, Andy has full-out tackled Vern.

Hacks come, Lopresti and Metzger, and they refuse to listen to him, O’Reily, and even Chris insisting that Andy didn’t start the fight.

…

“You have got to let Andy out of the hole, McManus. Check the cameras.”

“We have,” Murphy says. “Vern pushed him, but he escalated things to a much larger degree.”

“If I weren’t a werewolf, I’d have a broken nose!” He takes a deep breath. “Please,” he quietly says. “Both of you, please. Andy has been doing a good job. Staying clean, staying out of trouble. You’ll notice he didn’t escalate things until his dad hurt me. Because, I’m his friend, and- A week in the hole could have him using again as soon as he gets out.”

The two look at one another, and then, McManus says, “Wait outside.”

He does, and when he comes back, McManus says, “We’ll let him out in the morning.”

“McManus-”

“Hey, you heard him,” Murphy says. “He’s spending the night. If it makes you feel better, I’m about to throw his old man in there for a week.”

“It really doesn’t.”

…

Andy looks up to see Karl Metzger holding a bag.

“What’s this?”

“A little present from your father. A week is a long time.”

Dropping the bag, Metzger leaves.

Opening it, Andy sees drugs.

…

“Stop pacing,” O’Reily orders.

“Go somewhere else if it’s bothering you. What the,” Toby uses a strong expression, “did I do? My first time in the hole, I went on a month long bender! Shit. Shit. You know, your pal Murphy can really-”

Coming over, Chris says, “Hey.”

“Don’t have the time or patience to deal with you right now.”

“Okay. O’Reily, why don’t you go get a chessboard, we’ll see if I’ve learned anything yet or not? Either he’ll join in, or we’ll make sure he doesn’t end up attacking anyone with that cane.”

“Sounds good,” O’Reily agrees.

…

There are times Murphy hates dealing with Beecher and Keller.

“No.”

“Then, take me to McManus.”

“No. He’s dealing with something far more important than you wanting to switch pods.”

“One night, Murphy,” Keller softly says. “Beecher cares about the kid, he’s blaming himself, and you have him in the hole when you know damn well that-”

“Beecher will be fine.”

Keller scoffs. “Oh, yeah, he seems fine to me.”

Unwillingly, his eyes follow Keller’s to where Beecher is pacing.

“All the more reason to leave him alone. Especially with your injury.”

“Oh, come on, Murphy. Look, we both know who the third person in the gym was, and we both know all three of those people are still alive. When Toby came back to Em City, I slept in our pod for a little over a week.”

And there’s the confirmation. Of course, Keller’s smart enough to give himself verbal plausible deniability, but there it is.

He wishes he could feel good, feel angry, feel anything but mind-numbingly tired.

“And you think, after admitting that, even though it’s not enough for me to have you thrown in the hole or get charges pressed, I’d ever let you be his podmate again?”

“I think- Look, you had me pegged from pretty much the start. I’m a piece of shit. I was a half decent con artist. One of the things I learned a long time ago was: Surprise can help sell a lie. I told you I wasn’t going to hurt him, and you believed that I didn’t want to. That I cared about him. That was real. What was also real is: I got to know him. He’s not holding up, won’t until Andy comes out, and that’s only if Andy comes out alright.”

The screw is: Yeah, he did believe Keller cared for Beecher, and he still does.

More than this, he’s worried, too, but he’s not completely without sense.

“The only thing I can do is take him to the infirmary and get Doc Nathan to hold him for the night.”

Hesitation and genuine concern swirl inside Keller, and so, he adds, “Not the psych ward. If you give me a reason, I’ll get her to hold him for the night, let him out in the morning.”

He wishes he didn’t have pity for the inner debate going on inside Keller. He wishes he could believe Keller is using his injury to try to fool him.

“Fine, you,” a term that is an insult to his mother is used. “As Beecher’s former podmate, I’m telling you I think he might accidentally hurt himself if left alone tonight.”

Nodding, he carefully moves around Keller to head over to Beecher.

…

Toby glares when O’Reily and Chris meet him in Em City. He has a strong urge to hit the latter, but that might get him thrown in the hole, too.

“Why do I get the feeling you had something to do with me being put under unofficial suicide watch?”

Keller shrugs. “Hey, at least, it wasn’t official.”

“Shit, I forgot my cards. Don’t kill each other, you two.”

“I’ve never tried,” he points out.

“Yeah, neither have I. Guess that’s something we’ll talk about soon, though, ain’t it? Unless you want to move our scheduled conversation up. I’d be good with that.”

O’Reily, he sees, has sensibly not stayed around for this conversation.

Scoffing, he starts to go into his own pod when he hears, “Lockdown!”

He wholeheartedly agrees with the words coming out of Chris’s mouth. Managing to get his hands clasped behind his head, Chris starts to head to his.

Except, surprisingly, Murphy comes over. “Hey, no, into this one.”

“This one’s mine,” he says.

“It’ll only be for a few minutes.”

And so, he and Chris end up in his pod together.

He’s not dealing with whatever this is. He’s getting one of his books, try not to think of Andy-

“Toby. Hey, Beecher, come over here.”

Or he could listen to Chris. Why the hell not?

When he gets over to the glass, however, he’s not exactly sorry he did.

Outside, a handcuffed Metzger is being led through Em City.

He still doesn’t remember Metzger in or even near the gym, but seeing this, he feels something inside him heal.

…

After lockdown has ended, Murphy comes to take him to McManus. “First, Andy Schillinger is fine. Metzger delivered drugs to the hole. Claimed it was from Vern Schillinger. We’ve matched Metzger’s prints to the package and the drugs inside. We didn’t match Schillinger’s, but he’s confined to the hole for the indefinite future.”

They get to the office, and Andy, oh God, he’s alive. He’s clean, too, but most importantly, he’s alive.

“Toby,” Andrew’s voice cracks, and they’re hugging.

“Okay. Good, you’re okay.” Kissing Andrew’s head, he hugs him tighter. “Good. You were strong. Thank you, for being strong.”

“Why don’t you two go get breakfast,” McManus suggests. “We can all talk later.”

…

“Murph!”

Seeing Keller running to him, he can't stop his sigh. “I’m-”

“I know Vern and Metzger are going to tell what happened in the gym. And they have every right to. I sincerely believe that, and I’m not trying to weasel out of this. I’m asking you: Let me talk to Toby real quick, and then, take me to McManus.”

“Nothing’s stopping you from talking to Beecher, and since you haven’t-”

“Don’t let him talk to them. Keep them quiet. Please. I did it. I broke Toby’s arms, I watched Schillinger break Toby’s legs, and Metzger was there the whole time. He’s the one who escorted Toby there. Only two places I’m going is either the hole or PC. Just let me talk to Toby before I do.”

God, don’t let this be a mistake on my part, he prays.

What he’s doing goes against all rules and regulations, and if he’s being fooled-

There’s a voice inside telling him, for all Keller isn’t a stand-up guy, Keller’s desperation, pain, and caring for Beecher are real, and this might be wrong on the books, but it won’t be wrong where it counts.

God, let this be the right choice.

“I’ll try, but you have less than an hour, pal. And if you use this time to try to hurt Beecher, you’ll go somewhere worse than the hole.”

…

Why in the hell is it, every time Toby’s approaching genuinely happy, I have to be the one to shit on it, Chris wonders.

Watching Toby playing cards with O’Reily and Andy, he considers turning around. Murphy’s right: He can spill his story without talking to Toby.

Except- he’s come to the realisation: Toby didn’t make him weak. He made himself weak.

Going over, he slaps hands with O’Reily. “Toby, I need to talk to you.”

“You hear about Schillinger, K-boy? He’s probably going to be transferred.”

“Good,” Toby says. “We can talk later.”

“It’s really important. Now.”

Toby looks up. “I’ll keep my end of our deal. But I’m going to finish this game, first.”

He wants to kiss him. He wants to hug him. There are times when all he thinks about is touching, just a simple touch, Toby. Is this all it’s going to be, a soft touch on his neck, a steadying hand on his shoulder, the touch causing Toby pain?

Sitting down, he rests his head against his hands, and he prays for the game to end fast. Please, God, I know I ain’t one of yours, I never needed no priest or nun to tell me that, but if you’re really good, he is one of yours. Just let me have something good. Let me be a little bit of good in his life.

“Keller.”

He looks up to see Murphy coming over with a look of disapproval and pity.

“They talked?”

Murphy nods.

Standing up, he asks, “Front or back?”

“If you don’t resist, we can do this without the cuffs.”

“No resisting,” he agrees.

…

Sister P comes to visit him.

“Tobias is still claiming to have little memory of what happened.”

“He doesn’t remember Metzger. That’s the truth. He remembers me, he remembers Schillinger, but soon after he got out of the hospital, we were talking, and he didn’t even remember which hack Metzger was until I pointed him out.”

“Hm. That’s interesting. Unfortunately, this will likely be used in any defence they use.”

“Won’t do them much good. My memory’s fine, and I might be a punk, but I’m not an addict, and I’m perfectly sane.”

“So, you are resolved to testify?”

“Yes. I just wish- it wouldn’t matter much to the court, but if I’d told McManus before they did, maybe, Toby-” He sighs. “Anyway, you know how long I’m staying in here?”

Nodding, a small smile crosses her face. “There are some people very unhappy with this decision, but- Not only is Tobias giving the impression he’ll only be able to testify against Schillinger, but he was asked how he’d feel if you were brought back into Em City.”

He sits up.

“He said it didn’t matter to him. That he’s not afraid of you. With Schillinger and Metzger gone, if you’re willing to risk possible retaliation by the Aryans-”

“I am. I can protect myself.”

“Then, you have the choice of returning. However, you’ll be restricted to Em City, one misstep, you’ll be back here, and if anything happens to Tobias, even if it can’t be connected to you, you’ll be back in protective custody or solitary confinement for the foreseeable future.”

“I understand. I want to go back, Sister.”

…

“Welcome back, K-boy.” He and O’Reily hug, and O’Reily says, “Beecher wants to talk to you later, but he’s busy right now. Let’s go to the gym.”

“Okay. Has he been alright?”

“Yeah. He and Saïd had an argument? Friendly discussion? I don’t know, they’ve been talking a lot about this rule Muslims have about not being alone with women who aren’t family.”

“I know this is going to sound biased, but do people forget that Beecher’s a lawyer?”

“Says the man who once went on a rant about how most lawyers were incompetent crooks. Besides, Saïd is an actual member of the faith they’re arguing about.”

“So? I knew a nun who couldn’t recite the ten commandments in order.”

“Can you? I can’t.”

“That’s not the point. The point is, I would have whipped her ass in any theological debate, and I’m not a lawyer, Catholic, or otherwise religious.”

“She did know them, though, right, even if she didn’t know the order?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure I’d even go that far.”

Shrugging, O’Reily opens the gym door. “You first.”

Going inside, he sees Toby sitting on the floor against the wall, and he realises the gym is otherwise empty.

The door shuts behind him.

Starting to walk over, he asks, “You going to break my bones?”

Shaking his head, Toby quietly answers, “No.”

“I’d let you.” He sits down.

“It wouldn’t do any good.”

…

Despite it probably going against- well, everything, Toby lets his breathing and heart sync up with Chris’s.

“You wanted to have this conversation. So, you start.”

Nodding, Chris leans against the wall. “Why wouldn’t it do any good?”

“Because, I- sometimes, I hate you. Anger overwhelms me. But most of the time, when I let myself think, let myself feel, I’m just sad.”

“I get that. I know, I don’t really have a right being sad, but I am.”

Truth.

“You can’t make this right, you know. With me. Legally, spiritually, with yourself, sure, you probably can. But I’m never going to- I might forgive you one day. It won’t change anything between us. It’ll make things better for me, but things’ll stay the same for you.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. It’ll mean a hell of a lot to me.”

What else is there to say, he wonders.

“Toby, when I was seventeen, I was in Lardner with Vern. He protected me. It came with a price, but he did protect me. After I was sentenced, I got a call. He wanted repayment. Help him bring down some guy. It sounded easy enough, and-” Chris trails off.

“It was easy enough,” he says. Standing, he begin to pace.

“You know, before Oz, I did face humiliation before. I didn’t like it, but it was easy enough to get over. Some bullies in high school, some people I faced in court. Schillinger, he was cruel without a reason. Didn’t get over that so easy. But you,” he tries not to let the tears come, “I tried to be a good friend to you. Not at first, no, but aside from that first night when I had that nightmare, I didn’t do shit to you. And then, I tried to be a good friend.”

“You were more than that.”

Wiping his eyes, he shakes his head. “No. It wasn’t love. I didn’t know you, not really, and you don’t love someone you do this to. You don’t do this to someone you love.”

Chris stands. “You did know me.”

“The Chris Keller I knew would have never worked with Vern Schillinger. He never would have laughed at me, broken my arms, let my legs be broken. He wasn’t real. It hurts to accept that, but it’s the healthiest thing to do. And,” he takes a breath, “the person who would do all that, I don’t have any interest in getting to know him on a personal level.”

“I thought you made me weak,” Chris says, and the words are almost nonsensical. “When I was drinking that moonshine, I was more vulnerable in that moment than I had been with anyone in a very long time. I’d like you to understand: I always knew it wasn’t your fault. But still, I couldn’t let myself be weak. Anyone who made me that way-”

“But the thing is, you didn’t. That night when you got food poisoning, I didn’t think I was doing anything special. Like I said, Kitty was a handful when she was sick. It was natural laying down on the floor near you. But it wasn’t just me doing things like that. You cut my food for me, took my pain, tried talking to me when I was drunk and vulnerable. Bonnie, she was the only one I was ever anywhere close to truly being myself with, and it was nothing like how you made me feel.”

“I’m not sure what you’re expecting me to glean from this,” he says, “but what I’m getting is that you and I have different approaches to-”

“My point is, loving you made me stronger. It made me into someone I wanted to be. Except- funny thing is, I’m not fearless. There are things I’m scared shitless of. Yet, I’ve done most of those things. Ever since I was little, I came across something that scared me, I’d make myself power through. It’s just how I’m built. And that’s what I should have done but didn’t. I should have let you see me, told Schillinger to screw himself, and kept hitting you upside the head every time you talked bad about yourself.”

In response, he says, “All that could have ended just as bad, if not worse, for you. Look, Chris- you know, I did some pro bono work for victims of domestic abuse. I’m glad I never had to directly deal with someone like you. This might hurt, but it’s not meant to be cruel: I could never trust you. I’d always wonder if you had some plan to hurt me. Unless something was easy to verify, I’d wonder if you were telling the truth about the smallest of things. And you know, if I hurt someone like you did, and they agreed to have a relationship with me, I wouldn’t trust them.”

“Where does that leave us?”

“There is no us. There never will be. I’ll never know if you and Schillinger didn’t have some other plan that got derailed when Andy found the strength to not take those drugs.” Ignoring the feelings pouring off Chris, he continues, “The thing is, I believe there wasn’t. I believe you helped, because, you were sorry. Because, some part of you genuinely cares about me.”

“But even believing this, the love I felt, that did make me weak. If things had been different, maybe, it would have made me strong, too, but things weren’t different. You hurt me. There are times I want to kill you, literally kill you, and there are times I have a twisted admiration for you. So, we can keep talking for as long as you want, but it won’t change anything. You don’t hurt me, I won’t hurt you.”

“This hurts,” is the soft response.

“You did this to yourself, not me. Likewise, I have no obligation to protect or help you. I’m glad Schillinger is gone. At least, for now. Thank you for that. But us talking right now, it’s the price. I won’t ever ask or expect you to do something for me without there being a price.”

Chris leans against the wall. “All figured out, huh, Toby?”

“How would you have expected this to end?”

“Probably worse,” is the soft reply.

Truth, again.

“If it helps, part of me is sorry. Like I said, not all of me hates you. I just can’t trust you.”

“If you could-”

“But I can’t. One thing I don’t think I got wrong about you is, you’re rarely the type who indulges in what might have been.”

“True,” Chris says.

“I’m the opposite. Thoughts like that can eat me alive. And, uh, it’s not even big thoughts like, what if I hadn’t killed Cathy Rockwell? I remember shit I did or didn’t do when I was six-years-old, and I can agonise over it. This, however? I’ve been confused, hurt, angry, sad, and a little bit admiring, but I haven’t wondered what I should or shouldn’t have done differently.”

“Vern wanted to hurt me even more than he already had. He found someone who’d be able to pull it off. That person, you, did. I ended up with four broken bones. It might’ve been technically more, I’m not sure, but arms and legs were broken, round down to four. I healed, I managed to get him and this corrupt hack I don’t even remember doing anything transferred. Gone.”

“Now, I think about trying to be the best father I can be to my children despite what I’ve done. I think about getting out of here without any more broken bones or bouts of insanity. And when I leave, I’ll think of Sister Pete, probably of Andrew, and maybe Murphy. Everything else, all the bad, I’ll find a good shrink to help me deal with those thoughts so that I don’t let them screw up my life again.”

Chris takes a breath, and if he thought a pain drain would help, he’d do it, but he knows it’s not the injury. “I guess that’s that, then. Nothing else to really say.”

Some of it hurts him, too, more than he expected, but he focuses on the relief. “Yeah.” He picks up his cane. “See you later, Chris.”

Carrying the cane out, he leaves.

…

As Andy and Ryan sit down in the quad, Andy asks, “Where’s Toby and Keller?”

“The gym,” Ryan answers.

Andy frowns. “The gym is-” Realisation settles onto his expression.

“Beecher will be fine.”

“Will Keller?”

Ryan starts dealing cards. “Beecher owes him. However Beecher decides to pay that debt, he has the right.”

They start playing, and eventually, Toby walks in.

“See, there he is.”

Coming over, Toby squeezes Andy’s neck. “Hey, you doing okay?”

Giving him a small smile, Andy nods.

“How’s Keller,” Ryan asks.

“He was fine when I left him.”

“Physically, you mean, right, law-boy?”

“Any emotional hurt he’s suffering, he did that all on his own.”

…

“How are you doing, Chris?”

Stretched out in Sister Pete’s office chair as best he can to avoid putting pressure on his sore back, he announces, “I hate Corinthians.”

“Do you disagree with it?”

“No. I just hate it.”

“How are things with Tobias?”

“They’re not. Sometimes, the four of us play cards or work on Andy’s wrestling. Christ, part of me hates that kid, but then, the other part knows, if not for him, I probably wouldn’t even have this much.”

“Why do you hate Corinthians?”

He scoffs.

She waits.

“Doing the right thing should feel good. There should be rewards for it. And thinking on it, maybe, part of me does disagree. I agree love _should_ be like that, patient, kind, exalting and glorifying the people who feel it and the people they feel it for, but in my admittedly limited experience, love is messy. It hurts. It- it’s very fragile. One horrible mistake, and you lose it forever.”

“Honest question: Didn’t you know there was a good chance Tobias would, even if he forgave, never have an intimate relationship with you again if you went through with Operation Toby?”

“I guess so. You know, the pathetic thing is, I heard or read this quote once: ‘I will break your heart just to prove that I own mine.’ I never understood that. If you love someone, and they love you, be with them. It might not work, there’s always a chance, but even someone like me- I’ve been angry and hurt people I cared about because of that anger, but to hurt someone you love just because you can or worse, because, you’re too afraid of what being with them might be like-”

“I wish I’d listened to the part of me that felt all of that. Remembered it when I was rationalising hurting Toby to myself.”

“But you didn’t. And you can hate Corinthians and the Golden Rule all you want, but stewing in your mistakes and self-hatred over making them, hoping for a relationship you know is never going to happen, isn’t going to do you any good in the long-run.”

“So, what do you suggest I do?”

“Well, actually, I have several suggestions.”

…

There are times he really wonders if Andy Schillinger is Vern’s kid at all.

He once saw a picture of Vern’s wife, and from what he remembers of it, Andy does look a lot like her, and there’s the shared lactose intolerance, but otherwise-

“Quit lurking around. You can talk to me without Toby or O’Reily here.”

Coming into the pod, Andy sits down in the chair. “You knew my dad before you came here.”

“Yeah, we were in Lardner together.”

“What was he like?”

“Better than he is now. Still a piece of work, though.” He carefully sits up. “What do you want to know about him?”

“What made you- you hurt Toby because of him. What’d he do to make you?”

“That isn’t an easy question to answer. What do you know about what your dad did to Beecher?”

“Not much. I know about the swastika.”

“Part of it, I owed him for keeping me safe. Other part, I never had a friend like Toby, and that scared me. Made me stupid.”

“You and Toby weren’t just friends, though, were you?”

Taking in the tone, he raises an eyebrow. “That’s debatable. You trying to figure out what I am, what Toby is, or what your dad is?”

Andy shrugs. “I don’t even know what I am. I don’t like men like that. Or I don’t think I do. But I’ve only ever been with one- I was fifteen, and she was in my science class. She was pretty. Nice. It didn’t go well.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Andy shakes his head.

“Okay. I’m bisexual. Yeah, I fell in love with Toby, and then, I blew it. Toby, he loved me. As for your dad, well, I was on my knees and stomach. The price of his protection. I don’t know if he has any real sexual attraction to men or if he just gets off on the power. I’ve never concerned myself with the question.”

Poor Andy looks legitimately sick at hearing this, and he wonders if he’s gone too far.

However, taking a deep breath, Andy nods. “So, when I-”

“Yo, K-boy, Andy,” O’Reily pops his head in. “Beecher is now arguing with the Jewish prisoners. I swear, he has a death wish.”

“Eh, one of the senior partners at his law firm was Jewish.” He gets up. “It’s fun watching him argue.”

“Just admit you’re biased, K-boy.”

“Hey, I didn’t say I think he’ll win. Though, I have noticed you’ve never argued with him about the Irish.”

“The Irish are better than you sorry lot.”

They all leave to go extract Toby.

…

Toby and Saïd are in the laundry room when Chris comes in, and somehow, he automatically knows this isn’t going to be good.

“Andy and I were talking earlier. Something going on between you two?”

Somehow, Chris continues finding ways to surprise him.

Looking around, he’s relieved to see no one but Saïd is around.

“No. And don’t put something like that out there! He’s already a target.”

Chris wants to believe him but doesn’t, and if not for the fact he’s not going to attack an injured human in the laundry room- well, he’d attack a human in the laundry room.

Okay, take a deep breath, he tells himself.

“Really? ‘Cause, I didn’t tell him what happened between you and Vern, but we were talking about his old man’s non-discriminatory tastes when it comes to sexual sadism, and I know you’d never hurt him, Toby, but before O’Reily came to drag us to save your sorry ass from that argument about Israel, he started to say something, and I suddenly got the impression something had happened.”

“Oh, Jesus,” he mutters. Dragging Chris farther away from Saïd, he quietly says, “Yes and no. He offered, and I turned him down. That’s all.”

“And you haven’t been tempted to take him up on it since?”

“Tempted?” He can feel his nose wrinkling. “No. Look, I don’t know what he is without asking, which I’m not going to do, but I know that there was nothing good or normal in that offer. No love, no lust, not even a horny person willing to make do with whatever limited options were available. Andy is a scared kid, an addict. He was just barely clean, probably still some residue in his system, in Oz, and I was the one person showing a consistent, non-threatening interest in him.”

Leaning back, he feels sick at the memory.

He’d looked down at the scared, desperate person, and he wished he could, just for a minute, understand what made Vern even want- Why would anyone want to hurt someone already so badly hurt, and beyond that, what in the world made it in anyway sexually exciting?

Rape is about power, not sex, he’s always known on an intellectual level. On an emotional level, he’d thought he’d come to understand it, but Andy was the person Andy’s dad once hurt in such a way, and suddenly, none of it made any sense again.

“And what if he does develop a horny interest in you?”

“Hopefully, you or O’Reily will help him find someone to have safe, consensual fun with. Andy is a legal adult. But he’s so young, so helpless in some ways, that I can’t help but think of my kids. What if, God forbid, they somehow end up in a place like Oz? Come across someone like Vern?”

Chris makes a motion as if to touch him, but thinking better of it, he withdraws his hand before contact is made.

“Whatever your reason, you asking about Andy is fine. I’d’ve preferred it if you didn’t risk putting an even bigger target on him by doing it in the laundry room, but fine. Otherwise, don’t ask about my sex life, Chris.”

“You got it.”

Chris leaves.

…

“Toby, wake up!”

Groaning, he swats the hand away as he sits up. “Andy, it’s- okay, it’s the middle of the afternoon. But after I spent most of the night fixing Sister P’s-”

“There are Aryans in Emerald City.”

Fully awake, he slides down. “What?”

“Robson, that Mark? Mack? guy, and Wick.”

And both McManus and Murphy are visiting their families, he remembers. Glynn’s dealing with the fallout from the computer virus. Him getting all of Sister Pete’s files re-entered into the system (maybe, now, people will start listening to his insistence that not getting floppy disks is going to eventually cost much more than buying them in bulk would) doesn’t mean there isn’t more lost data that needs to be tracked down, and given the automated emails that virus sent out- Glynn’s likely going to be locked in his office for several days.

“Shit. Okay, Andy,” he squeezes the back of his neck, “stay here. Alright? Stay.”

Fear in his eyes, Andy nods.

“Good.”

Leaving, he spots O’Reily and Hill playing Chinese checkers.

“Nice boxers,” Hill comments.

“Hill, get to your pod. There are Aryans back in Em City. O’Reily, do you know where Chris is?”

Cursing, Hill leaves.

Rubbing his face with a groan, O’Reily shakes his head. “I don’t know. I think he might have gone to the kitchens, tried to charm some of that apple pie out of the homeboys.”

“He doesn’t even like apple pie! Thanks, you might want to get back to your pod, too. I’m going to murder him!”

O’Reily says something, but he doesn’t hear it.

Heading to the cafeteria, he’s disturbed by the dearth of hacks and relieved to see Saïd and several of the Muslims are crammed together in Saïd’s pod.

Some part of him knows it’d be smart to go back to his own pod, make sure Andy actually stays, but if the Aryans are planning a strike on Vern’s behalf, he’s the biggest target. Andy and Keller are the biggest potential targets.

Everyone believes Vern did send those drugs, and he doesn’t disbelieve it so much as, even with all the evil Vern’s done, would he really, truly orchestrate the murder of his youngest son, his own flesh-and-blood? And when it comes to Keller- well, it depends on a lot of things whether Vern would order his death.

His nose catches Chris’s scent, and relief and further irritation running through him, he hurries towards it.

Carrying a wrapped plate, Chris almost drops it. “Hey, uh, Toby? Why are you-”

“I’m going to painfully murder you.” Grabbing the back of Chris’s neck, he starts walking them back. “You don’t even like apple pie.”

“You and Andy do. I thought I could use it to me and O’Reily’s advantage during our game tonight. But I’m more than willing to use it as a don’t shank me offering instead.”

He almost says three words he’d regret, and trying his best to push the feelings aside, he explains, “Andy saw Aryans in Em City. I left him in our pod and warned O’Reily and Hill. Saïd’s in his with some of the Muslims.”

Chris groans. “That means you and me are the biggest targets on the loose.”

“Maybe. It’s a long shot, but maybe, they aren’t here on Vern’s behalf. At any rate, we need to get back to our pods as soon as possible.”

“Yeah.”

…

They get back to Em City, Toby sees Andy is in the pod, and then, hiding underneath a table, a neo-Nazi slashes his Achilles tendon with a mistletoe juice coated blade, and when he falls, it’s plunged into his heart.

A guard sees, lockdown is called, but before the pods are locked, Andy is rushing out, and seeing this, Saïd comes out, too, and intercepting Andy, he manages to get him into Saïd’s pod.

As this is all happening, Chris knocks the neo-Nazi out, and falling to his knees, he pulls the knife out, slashes the neo-Nazi’s throat, and making a cut on his arm, he wraps Toby’s hand around it. “Come on, come on, this is your fault, if you’d just stayed in your pod, come on, Toby, I swear, if you don’t-”

Black veins start to criss-cross Toby’s arm, and closing his eyes, he concentrates. Black veins pepper his face, and as his body starts to slacken, the wound on Toby’s chest begins to close.

…

Opening the door to solitary, Murphy says, “You’re lucky you’re not being charged with murder.”

Chris comes out. “Infirmary?”

“No.”

He doesn’t bother protesting. He knows Toby is alive.

“He was down,” Murphy continues.

Managing not to roll his eyes, he responds, “And if he’d regained consciousness before SORT or medical had gotten there, he would have tried killing us again.”

“He might have been too weak to try.”

“I wasn’t taking that chance.”

…

Toby’s aware he should probably be a little gentler with Andrew. “You are on my list of people I will painfully kill once I get out of here. What part of stay in the pod did you not understand?”

“No yelling,” Dr Nathan warns.

“You were hurt.”

“And you could have been, too!” At her look, he adds, “That wasn’t yelling, that was empathetically making a point.”

“Empathetically make your point quieter and without any threats of violence.”

“Fine.” Sighing, he takes a deep breath, and then, holds his hand out.

Sitting down, Andy takes it.

“How’ve you been doing?”

“Good. Uh, I’ve been sleeping in Saïd’s pod while you’ve been in here. He’s been looking out for me. It was- he got me into his pod when lockdown was called, and he said that I needed to be strong, not do anything foolish, that that’s what you’d want. Me safe.”

“He’s right. I don’t- Andy, it would hurt me badly if something happened to you.”

Andy nods. “Yeah, I know. But I couldn’t just stay in there, not when you were hurt.”

“You’re not doing a very good job of getting off my list.”

“Only people with no lists of people they plan to murder get clearance to go back to Em City today,” Dr Nathan says.

“Why do you like them more than you do me, doc?”

She chuckles. “I wouldn’t say that I do.”

…

“Hey.” Toby sits down beside Chris on a bench.

“Hey. Andy warned me you still want to kill me. Apparently, you have a twelve-step plan.”

“You might have done a good enough job of that on your own. And I’ve got it down to two steps now.”

Laughing, Chris grins at him. “I ain’t apologising. So, I might die when I’m 80 instead of 100-something. That’s assuming someone with plans to shank me doesn’t get lucky.”

Toby sighs. “I’ve talked to Andy, Saïd, and McManus. Murphy might kill us both, but if you want, we can be podmates again.”

Taking a sharp breath, Chris turns to face him more fully.

“I almost said, ‘I love you.’ I wanted to kill you for doing something as stupid as going to get some pie that you don’t even like, but would I really expect anything different from you? More than that, I just wanted to get you into a pod before someone with less reasonable reasons to want you dead could succeed. So, why don't we just see what happens?”

Chris nods.

…

After lights out, Chris washes his face, and he sees Toby looking at him in the mirror.

Drying off, he turns, and Toby slides down off his bunk.

Toby nods, he starts to move towards Toby, and Toby reaches out. Their foreheads are pressed together, he carefully places his hands on Toby’s waist, and when he feels the gentle hand on the back of his neck, he fully leans forward.

The kiss almost makes him shake. He’s calm, and there’s a live wire going off inside him. He’s happy, and he’s scared. He wishes he had Toby’s senses, and he hates the fact Toby might doubt what Toby’s senses are saying; there’s no way anyone, least of all him, could fake what this is doing to him, what this means to him.

When it breaks, he stays wrapped around Toby.

“Toby?”

“Yeah.”

“Could I sleep up in your bunk with you tonight? Or you sleep down in mine with me? Just sleep. I just want to be beside you. That’s all.”

Toby doesn’t respond, and- maybe, this is too fast. He tries to find the right words. He can be happy with just-

“I don’t know if I’ll have nightmares or not. I wouldn’t do it on purpose, but you might end up getting pushed off the bed.”

“That’s fine.”

“Okay,” Toby agrees. Then, Toby kisses him again. “Mine.”

They climb up on Toby’s bunk, and getting the blanket over them, he presses his back against the wall, and carefully wrapping an arm over Toby’s chest, he focuses on the sound of both of their breathing.

The bed’s almost uncomfortably small for two grown men, Toby runs hot underneath the blanket, but feeling his breathing starting to match Toby’s, he drifts off with the thought, _I love you_.


	4. Start of Something New

You’re in over your head, goes through Toby’s.

Last night was the safest he’s felt since coming to Oz, and even if Operation Toby had never happened, he’d like to think he’d still be smart enough to intellectually and emotionally recognise the fact- The smell and feel of overheated, hard, strong-bodied Chris is entrenched into his senses. Last night, he realises, Chris had climbed underneath a blanket in his shirt and pants next to a werewolf, and if he’d woke up during the night due to the heat, he’s sleeping soundly now still fully dressed.

More than this, he’s never begrudged the fact Chris is a man, a sexual being, only the fact he was an unknown who might use sex, rape, more accurately, as a method of control. Neither of them are virgins, not when it comes to men or women either.

He just hadn’t stopped to think, in the relief of having Chris be okay and the acknowledgement things did need to change between them, that, whatever the term for them is now, it’s something that will call for more than a kiss and literal sleeping together. Few people in the Victorian and Middle Ages truly waited for marriage before sex, and sex is a normal, natural, healthy part of the majority of romantic relationships. He knows Chris well enough to know Chris wouldn’t want anything that would make a sexual partner feel shame or pain.

Hearing the hacks starting to stir outside, he knows it’ll be time for count soon.

This wouldn’t be fair to Andy, but if he spun things so that he’s worried about the kid, wants him back in this pod- That wouldn’t be fair to Saïd, either. Saïd’s been helping Andy study The Bible, and despite the brewing tension, there have been fragile signs of greater commingling since the Muslim black nationalist and the son of one of the worst Aryans this place has ever seen have been bunking together.

Besides, everyone knows Saïd is both resolutely inflexible in his heterosexuality and his abhorrence of rape, whereas, for a time, he was just crazy enough that the question of whether he might go after someone the way others went after him had some validity. No one’s going to think Andy is or might eventually be a prag now.

Carefully lifting the arm off his chest, he sits up, and gently shaking the stirring Chris, he says, “Come on. Lights on is about five minutes away.”

Chris blinks at him with eyes softer and more open than he’s ever seen.

He’s tempted to lean down to kiss him.

Instead, he slides down to grab some fresh clothes. “You’re soaked.”

“Guess so,” is the murmured reply as Chris almost lands face-down in his attempts to extract himself from the bunk. “Thanks.”

They get changed and teeth brushed, and Chris rests one arm on his shoulder as they stand near the door.

…

In the showers, Chris jerks off, and as far as he can tell, no one truly pays any attention to this.

They live in glass pods. Even if no one saw the kiss or Chris sleeping in his bed, people will know soon enough.

“Hey, Toby, we should see about getting movie night here. Angelique’s nephew was telling me about this new movie involving giant spiders in the centre of the earth.”

Pausing in soaping himself, he asks, “How old is her nephew again?”

“That bad, huh? Angelique’s sister doesn’t believe in monitoring what her kids watch. I was supposed to take them to a Wes Craven movie once, but it turned out, the theatre was showing some Shakespeare movie. I have no idea how it was in anyway connected to the Iago movie, but they loved it.”

“Othello, and Shakespeare’s plays aren’t interconnected. Do you remember what the movie was about?”

By the time they’re towelling off, he’s gathered it was Much Ado About Nothing.

“Movie night would just be more of those absurd motivational 15-to-30 minute clips McManus is constantly trying to find ways to shove down our throats.”

“Not if we had a vote.”

He finishes getting dressed. “We’re prisoners. We get no votes.”

“Maybe, we could,” Chris says. “We could talk to Saïd. You two could see if there’s a legal- whatever. Get McManus to agree: We go so many days without lockdown or a certain amount of people being thrown in the hole, we get to vote a certain movie in.”

Now that Chris has put the idea in his head, he can see ways this might work. Of course, there’d be some shankings, but overall, it might be a positive experience.

“There’s a possibility,” he agrees.

Grinning, Chris leans forward, and it’s so natural to share a quick peck with him.

Until he remembers where they are and the fact-

Unfortunately, getting movie night might be easier than getting a new podmate, and this is only in part due to the fact Chris will likely be much more willing to help with the former.

…

“That’d be fun,” Andy says. “I’d vote for the Three Stooges. Me and Hank used to watch them all the time when we were kids.”

O’Reily shrugs. “Only problem might be Saïd himself. The Muslims and Christians might ban together, and thing is, on Christmas and shit, fine, I’ll watch some cheesy religious flick, but the rest of the time, I’d want something much more PG than Miss Sally.”

“We could worry about that after we got movie night started.” Chris slings an arm over his shoulder. “What would you vote for, Toby?”

Using the excuse of grabbing Andy’s soy milk carton to read the ingredients to get the arm off him, he answers, “I have a tendency to pick apart movies. Holly once got fed up and decided, every time I said something about a movie while it was still on, I had to give her and Gary a nickel. Then, that was upgraded to a dime and a penny they’d put in Harry’s piggy-bank.”

“Your baby son had a piggy-bank,” O’Reily says.

“That was also their idea. Holly kept her money in her jewellery box, and Gary just kept his in a zippie bag with a piece of tape, _Gary’s Money_ , written on it. Gen was about six months pregnant during Christmas, and Holly put a piggy-bank for the baby on her list to Santa. She explained she’d take care of it until he was big enough to decide what he wanted to do with his money.”

“Um, I’m not saying she or Gary would,” Andy starts, “but-”

“It’s the type you have to literally break to get it open.”

God, how he and Genevieve had tried, or at least, Genevieve had, to convince Holly to pick out one that didn’t. But she’d seen it when her great-grandmother had taken her to a pawn shop, and she had a child’s certainty that Santa would get it for the baby. She’d happily explained how, when the baby was old enough, she’d help use Grandpa’s hammer to break it, and then, Santa could bring a non-breakable one or the baby could just buy his own.

“Angelique and her whole family was obsessed with soap operas. Kitty liked romantic comedies. Now, Bonnie, uh, the shit she was into.”

Curious, he looks over. “What shit?”

“She had a very strong metaphorical stomach. She wasn’t that into gore, but horror and thrillers, that was her cup of tea.”

“Which wife was she again, K-boy?”

“Two and four.”

“Isn’t gore horror?” Andy asks.

“It’s a subsection of it,” he answers. “I’m guessing she liked psychological?”

“You know me, I usually pay more attention to the people watching than whatever’s playing.”

The easy words discomfort him. Yes, he knows, Chris, but no, he hadn’t known this.

Probably should have, though. Chris’s always been more prone to laughing at everyone drooling over Miss Sally than to be drooling himself.

Breakfast is finished. “I’m going to go to Sister Pete’s early. I don’t think she has any appointments, and her computer is still being a bitch.”

Chris squeezes his arm. “Have fun showing it who’s boss.”

“I’ll talk to Saïd,” Andy says.

O’Reily looks at him with considering eyes.

…

“How are things with you and Chris, Tobias?”

There was a time in his life when he was extremely good at avoiding trouble, pain, and discomforting conversations. He didn’t repeatedly find himself going from one dicey place to another.

“Good. We’ve only been podmates again for one night so far, but no attempted shankings, so, that’s good.”

She nods. “If you ever-”

“Sister, I know you can’t break confidentiality, but how much do you know about- when did you- Uh, never mind.”

“Chris came to me shortly after you got out of the infirmary. He told me about his part in helping Schillinger.”

She’d listen, and she’d help him, and upon the realisation he’s not going to use this, his thoughts of killing himself are approaching genuine.

“I think we’re going to be okay. I’ve forgiven him.”

Now, if Chris doesn’t- he’s done nothing requiring forgiveness, not from Chris, but there were implied agreements in asking McManus to let them be podmates, in the kiss, in Chris getting overheated sleeping next to him, and Chris isn’t the type of man who deals lightly with people who break deals.

“Are you two in a relationship?”

“I think we’re still figuring that out,” is the best answer he can come up with.

…

“Beecher seems a little distant.”

Chris is half-tempted to shank O’Reily in the middle of the quad.

“No, he’s not.”

Except, Toby is, and he doesn’t know what he could have possibly done or not done to cause this. There’s a small possibility it’s not him, but if it’s not, Toby is still choosing not to tell him what it is.

He’d woke up in the middle of the night, and Toby had been sound asleep with a peaceful look on his face.

Even with the heat, he’d quickly fallen back asleep, and if he’d tried to explain to anyone, even Sister Pete, the feeling that he felt as he was falling back asleep, he doesn’t think he could. He’d felt safe, but it wasn’t not being afraid of physical harm or bad shit happening. He’s perfectly aware he could face either again at any time.

Toby wanted him. Toby wasn’t angry, afraid, or indifferent. Toby might not fully trust him, but it means a hell of a lot that Toby could sleep peacefully pressed against him.

“But if he was-”

O’Reily makes no bones about laughing. “Not that I want to know, but what did you two do last night?”

“Nothing.”

Looking sceptical, O’Reily says, “Maybe that’s it, then.”

“What, doing nothing?”

“Well, if he wanted more, and you just crawled into your bunk like a good little boy-”

After hurling a certain word at O’Reily, he finds himself adding, “We did a little more than nothing.”

The thought Toby might kill him for saying this much- ah, hell, let him. He wouldn’t go into details, he knows that would truly mortify Toby, but he ain’t hiding this. People in relationships kiss, bang, and in Oz, in Em City, if they’re lucky enough to not get a sadistic hack, they can even get lucky enough to share a bed.

“So, you’re definitely together, then?”

“Yep.”

“It won’t last.”

Blocking the punch, O’Reily waves to an approaching hack. “We’re fine. My buddy here’s cool.”

Putting his hands under the table, he manages to mutter, “Peachy.”

“Truth hurts, K-boy, but there it is.”

Before he can respond, he feels a familiar hand on the back of his neck. “Hey.” Toby sits down. “Why is that hack glaring at you two? Which one did what?”

Despite the exasperation, Toby is smiling easily.

He kisses him, and raising an eyebrow, Toby comments, “Well, I know what you’ve done now. My question is before I sat down.”

“Hacks are hacks,” O’Reily says. “I’d say get a room, but.”

“Too busy right now. After lunch, Sister Pete wants to see us, Andy, and Saïd. She likes the idea of movie night.” Grinning, Toby squeezes his knee.

Everything in him starts to relax. Toby had told him once about not being a morning person. That plus a project to focus his killer sharp mind on, he’s not going to be hurt over Toby not having much focus on him. Later, when it matters, he’ll climb up on Toby’s bunk, and Toby will be focused on him then.

…

After he’d had enough time away from Chris to be able to breathe, Toby’s day had been going good. He’d put all his worry, doubts, and fears away enough to focus on plans for getting movie night instigated, let himself enjoy being near Chris, and managed to get Sister P’s computer grudgingly back in line and online.

However, Chris clothes aren’t clean enough, and when he gets to the laundry room, he thinks he should really just learn how to deal with his sensitive nose.

Shemin is there, they’re all alone, and if this had happened before last night, he’d consider himself lucky.

“Haven’t seen you around lately.” Shemin strokes his arm.

“You don’t hear much news in Unit J, do you?”

“No. But I hear enough that I think it’s probably a good thing I wasn’t picked for Emerald City.”

There are many, many days when he wishes he hadn’t been. “Well, since all the Nazis were expelled, it’s been much better. Of course, eventually, McManus will bring some of them back.”

“None in Unit J,” Shemin says. “You up for some fun?”

He jumps at the sound of Chris’s harsh, almost snarling voice snapping, “No!”

Turning, he sees Chris is striding towards them, and glaring at Shemin, he orders, “Beat it.”

Shemin is a wendigo, and part of Toby doesn’t blame him for running from the human, but the other part- he could, at least, try to look dignified about it.

Really? goes through his mind. You know from personal experience there’s no swastika on _his_ bottom.

Once Shemin’s out-of-sight, he tries to keep his voice calm. “You don’t speak for me.”

“What, planning to take him up on it?” Giving him a murderous look, Keller lifts himself up onto a washer, and half of him hopes it’ll break and that Keller will get sent to the hole.

“No, I wasn’t. But regardless of whether I was or wasn’t, you don’t get to speak for me.”

“Whether you were or weren’t?”

“I was going to say no, Chris. I didn’t want him.”

Chris is calming down, and he should leave it.

“We should probably talk about, though-” He takes a quiet breath. “I’m aware this conversation should have happened before-”

There are harsh words thrown in when Chris demands, “What conversation?”

“You were out of line.”

Scoffing, Chris looks at him with sharp eyes. “Tell me, Beecher, how would you have felt if you’d come in and seen me with someone else’s hands on me, asking if I were up for some fun? And don’t you dare make a smart remark about O’Reily. You know exactly what I mean.”

“Unsurprised.”

He hadn’t meant to provoke Chris with this response, but if Chris were a shifter, his eyes would no longer be human blue.

“People want you. You take pride in the fact people want you. I’m not under any sort of illusion that passes aren’t constantly being made in Oz. And I know you aren’t either, so, why in the hell are you so angry?”

Most of the anger fades, and something he can’t quite pinpoint takes its place. “I wouldn’t. Toby, I’d turn them all down.”

Moving over to sit on a folding table, he quietly says, “Maybe, you shouldn’t.”

On the positive side, Chris stays where he’s at.

As if this means anything, he knows. Chris not doing anything right now doesn’t mean he won’t later.

“You love me. You forgave me.”

“Yes, I do. I did.”

“Then, why can’t you, won’t you, trust me?”

It hits him they might be having two different conversations.

Steeling himself, he goes over to Chris, and desperately hoping the washer doesn’t break, he lifts himself up on the one beside Chris. “If you promised fidelity, I’d trust you. This answers my question of whether you’d like hearing this, but uh, um, I think we should talk about not making that promise.”

Predictably, Chris’ words expressing his opinion, the opinion of ‘no’, are not soft, reasonable, or polite.

“What else do I have to do to fully be with you, Toby?”

Crap, he preferred the anger to the raw, hurt sincerity.

“Chris, I love you. I do. But sometimes, love doesn’t- There are things I’m not going to do. Things I can’t. I guess, maybe, if it were a matter of survival again, but even then, I think I might just kill someone or let myself be killed. I’m sorry about leading you on, I didn’t mean to, but-”

“This is about sex.”

“Yeah.”

Taking a deep breath, Chris touches his hand. “I’m not talking about sex. I just want to kiss you. Lay beside you.”

“That’s two things you want. You want more, and as time goes on, you’re going to want ‘more’ more.”

Sliding down, Chris moves so that he’s standing in front of him. “I want you. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, I don’t know if you were there in the showers this morning, but I’ve got two perfectly good hands.”

He tries not to scoff. “And that would be enough?”

“Yes. See the thing is,” he shivers as Chris’s hand trails down where Shemin touched him, “you do want me. I don’t doubt that at all. You just aren’t ready right now. You will be. There ain’t no rush; we’ve got plenty of time. But there’s no one but me, Toby. You get time, and when that time’s up, only I get you.”

“I have two perfectly good hands, too.”

Smiling, Chris nods. “The thought of you jerking off is incredibly sexy.” Moving closer, Chris gently kisses him, and when it starts to deepen, Chris leans away. “No one but ourselves or each other. For both of us.”

“Don’t do anything to Shemin.”

“Don’t give me a reason to.”

Pushing Chris away, he hops down. “Chris.”

“Oh for- I’m not going to kill Shemin. I’ve only killed one- Technically, two people, but even if I weren’t biased due to not wanting a murder trial, I would still argue that anyone who did what I did to that neo-Nazi scum would have been acting in clear and reasonable self-defence.”

Chris moves closer. “I won’t go near him, alright? But this is my line, my deal-breaker, whatever you want to call it. I wouldn’t go as far as saying I don’t care if you have sex with me. Obviously, it’s highly unlikely I’d ever say no, but just being able to touch you, just being yours, that’s almost enough. Except, you having sex with someone else, kissing them- that’s mine, Toby. It’s either me or nobody. Yourself excluded, as established.”

“Okay,” he agrees. Closing the distance, he moves to kiss Chris.

Stopping him, Chris sighs. “I need you to believe me when I say it’s the same. It’s either you or nobody.”

He nods. “I do.” Kissing him, he assures him, “I do, Chris.”

There’s banging on the door, and they break apart to see a pissed off Murphy glowering at them. “Buddy of mine in Unit J is bitching about how one of theirs, a Nate Shemin, left his clothes here and is too afraid to come back. Care to explain?”

…

After lights out, he and Chris kiss, and Chris is right: He does want.

Thoughts of actually following through on any of these wants, however-

He has the feeling Chris might sleep in his shirt and pants again, and so, he tugs the shirt off before his hands undo the button and zipper of Chris’s jeans.

Then, he climbs up on his bunk.

Soon, a boxer-clad Chris follows, and settling against the wall underneath the blanket, Chris drapes an arm across his chest. Then, nuzzling against his cheek, Chris murmurs, “Night, Toby.”

“Goodnight, Chris.”

…

He has a nightmare.

“Hey, hey, I’m here.”

Coming into consciousness, he feels Chris rubbing soothing circles on his chest.

“Sorry.” Sitting up, he checks Chris for injuries.

“You didn’t hurt me,” is the amused response.

“Just be still.”

Chris does.

Once he’s established he didn’t scratch, bite, or knock Chris’s head against anything, he slides down to wash his face. “Maybe you should sleep on your own bunk.”

“How ‘bout I steal your pillow?”

“You could take it down to your own bunk.” It hits him he may have no choice but to take Chris’, and it’s probably stupider than he wants to acknowledge, his insistence on having the top bunk, as if that wipes away what Vern did, as if that will protect him from being weak and hurt again.

“Beecher, do you think I’m a sociopath?”

“And I’m the one who brings things up out of nowhere?”

Helping him climb up onto the bunk, Chris says, “Still haven’t explained how in Christ we went from talking about your grandma starting a herb garden to you going on a frigging manifesto about that doctor who said vaccines might cause mental retardation in kids. Especially when you didn’t even want your own kids vaccinated.”

“Admittedly, I just happened to have that on my mind when we were talking about Grandmother’s herb garden, and I didn’t bother to indicate I was about to shift the conversation in that direction. But there’s a big difference between my hesitancy and that quack. I’m not a medical doctor, I couldn’t say whether there’s a link between autism and childhood vaccines or not.”

“However, I am a lawyer. Was a lawyer. And I’ve seen enough falsified medical studies to be able to recognise his from inside my jail cell.”

He realises they’re both leaning against the wall, and Chris has an arm slung over his shoulder.

Trying to repress a sigh, he leans his head back. “One of the founding members of my firm, Tony Leland, he was human, and he died protecting his client, Janice Hale.”

“I’ve heard that name before.” Frowning slightly, Chris tilts his head.

“Heard of the Tuskegee syphilis experiment?”

Chris shrugs.

“In 1932, the government started this program. 600 black human men were convinced to enter this study with the promise of free healthcare, meals, and burial insurance. 399 had syphilis before the study started, and 201 didn’t. The point of the study was to study the effects of untreated syphilis. None of these men were told they had it.”

“Christ, that’s messed up,” Chris mutters. “They didn’t have regular doctors or know any regular shifter folks who could have told them?”

“No. It was very carefully controlled. Most of these men, they were illiterate and heavily religious. And their hatred for shifters was greater than any mistrust they might have had for the government. The study went on for 34 years. Then, in 1966, Janice Elisabeth Hale, a government nurse, made the claim that some of the men had been deliberately infected by the conductors of the experiment.”

“Yeah, that’s it, I remember, I saw something about her in a history class. She was a werewolf, wasn’t she, until some assholes kidnapped her and did this ritual that made her human, right? Her family all abandoned her.”

“No one’s really sure what exactly that ritual did. If her spark was taken but she survived, she’s the only known wolf to ever have that happen. Most people think she was just so traumatised that she completely repressed the wolf part of her. The Hales, they’re still a powerful family in Italy, but they were big in America, too, until this happened.”

“But it was never proven that any of the men were deliberately infected by any of the conductors. Her coming forward exposed the program’s existence and did a lot to set the groundwork for current whistle-blower protection laws, but a lot of people still think she either lied or was mistaken about that part. Leland, I don’t know what he felt, thought, but he worked her case from 1966 to 1968. An unknown assailant fired a gun containing wolfsbane ammo at her in a Tennessee courthouse.”

“Leland shoved her out of the way, took a bullet to the chest. She broke her thumbs getting out of the handcuffs, and she was giving instructions on what people needed to do before the ambulance arrived. It was admittedly slim, but it didn’t kill him instantly; he might have had a chance, but this US Marshal knocked her unconscious and had her re-handcuffed in a courthouse file room.”

“Shit. Tell me something, at least, happened to that guy.”

“He had a long, prosperous career.”

Scoffing, Chris wriggles a little to adjust his stance.

“Still, a different US Marshal went above and beyond the call of duty to keep her safe when she was testifying in front of the Supreme Court.”

He’s a little surprised by how utterly unimpressed Chris is.

“That ain’t how that works. It was his job to keep her safe, and that means there is no beyond. He keeps her safe, or he falls short of duty, Beecher. Now, me, I’d never be a soldier, never take an oath to serve and protect. I hear these things about how order’s supposed to be kept, and that’s bullshit. Someone gives you a gun and a badge or uniform, you protect people, or you’re nothing but,” his words show exactly how low he finds those who don’t measure up.

“I woulda protected my wives when I was married to ‘em. Angelique’s nieces and nephew. Now, though, if I saw them in danger, didn’t protect them, that would make me a dick, but not wrong.”

“Interesting way of looking at things,” he says.

Chris laughs. “That means you think I’m a sociopath?”

“No. You have some sociopathic tendencies, but-” He realises what he just said.

Laughing even more warmly, Chris squeezes his shoulder before kissing the side of his forehead. “Could have told you that. I didn’t, but I coulda.”

“At any rate, you’re not a sociopath.”

Before Chris forced a pain drain and reversed it, forcing his body to accept some of Chris’ strength, some of Chris’ _life force_ , forced his body to transfer some of its pain to Chris, there were times he absolutely believed Chris never cared for him, and there were times he wondered if Chris really did or didn’t.

Despite this, he’s never doubted Chris genuinely cares for his three ex-wives and the three kids one of them is aunt to. He’s always believed Chris has genuine affection for O’Reily, and though Chris might not risk his life for O’Reily, he does believe Chris would go unselfishly out on a limb for him if the need arose.

“And neither are you, tough guy. If I thought you might kill me, I’d be more open to sleeping in my own bunk. But worse you’re going to do is break my arm or leg knocking me off, and with me on this side, that isn’t much of a risk.”

Gently, Chris gets him pushed down onto his back. “Up here or down there, your nightmares are still going to wake me up most of the time, and there’s no way in hell I’m moving out again. You wanted to figure out what to do with Andy, then, you wanted him safe, and I helped with both.”

Warmth makes him shiver when Chris curls an arm back over his chest.

Part of him wants to apologise, and another part wants to thank Chris, but since, with no wolfsbane nearby, pushing him off the bed wouldn’t keep any bones broken that way for long, he’s not sure Chris wouldn’t shove him off if he did.

…

He wakes up, and the sun is bright.

The sun doesn’t get bright until-

“I wanted to let you sleep.” Down below, Chris comes over. “We’re in lockdown. I don’t know why.”

Yawning, he manages to get down. “What time is it?”

“Almost ten.”

The one thing he utterly hates about lockdown is the lack of access to the showers. When necessary, he can quickly go nose-blind to his podmate, dirty laundry, and himself, but even one day without a shower makes him antsy. His skin begins to feel as if bugs are persistently crawling over it. It was the worst part of being in those body casts. Every day, he got a sponge bath, but it wasn’t the same.

He didn’t want to admit it, but the reason he didn’t go directly to the showers after being released was due to fear. That night, O’Reily had gone to the showers with him, and Keller had had the sense to not come when they were there.

After relieving himself and wiping himself down with a wet towel as best he can, he changes into his clothes.

Chris didn’t let them take his breakfast, and he kisses him in thanks.

Bran cereal, cold grilled cheese, two apples, and room temperature juice.

“Did you eat yours?”

“The grilled cheese. Some of the cereal. You know, Angelique’s nieces and nephew were all table-trained by the time I started getting put on babysitting duty, but even they’d probably throw the cereal right into someone’s face or on the ground. Cover the walls with it.”

“Meets state-mandated nutritional guidelines.”

“After you get movie night off the ground, think ya can do something about that, too?”

Laughing, he shakes his head. “That’s a little above my pay-grade at the moment. Want to play a game?”

Chris nods. “Checkers?”

“Sure.”

They set up the board.

“Why didn’t you want your kids vaccinated? You don’t seem to believe that vaccines do cause autism in kids.”

“Aside from the falsified study, there’s been no established link. That’s not to say there isn’t, but-”

He takes a breath. “I’ve never understood how a parent could want a dead kid. Even before I was one, I couldn’t. If my kids were in terrible pain with no hope for a cure, if they had something wrong with them and I knew that, someday, me and the rest of our family wouldn’t be able to continue taking care of them, of course, I’d hope that something would end their pain, that something would change so that they wouldn’t be alone and helpless at the mercy of this world. But even then, even if death was truly the only realistic answer, I don’t think I could cross that line into thinking them being dead could possibly be better. I’d just keep hoping, looking, for something to give them a better life.”

“Autism doesn’t kill. Measles, polio, even things that have almost been completely eradicated like smallpox, if a kid catches them before they can start manifesting, death is a high possibility. Also high is the chance of them never manifesting, always being permanently disfigured, whereas, there are shifters with forms of mental retardation.”

“So, I have my doubts about a link, but I’d rather have autistic kids than dead or physically crippled and always in pain ones. Besides that, shifters can’t get a lot of human diseases, but it has been shown by non-falsified studies that, if not vaccinated, a shifter can become a carrier and spread harmful diseases to humans. A vaccine in their system severely lessens the chance of that.”

Chris nods. “But?”

“But I don’t think Hale was lying or mistaken. And what’s to stop someone smart and determined from infecting certain children or even adults who go in for a round of vaccines or a flu shot? I’ve smelt vaccines, and they do have distinct smells from each other, but I’m not a medical professional. I can’t tell by looking at or smelling a tiny vial of liquid if it has a harmless to 90-something percent of the population vaccine or if it has a specially designed drug that will cause harm to the person being injected.”

“What if you trust the doctor or nurse giving it?”

“Two problems: One, where’s the guarantee they’d, regardless of how skilled at their job they are, know if they were given the latter? Or it takes a lot to become a medical professional. If someone can do that, they can learn how to manipulate and lie, fool both humans and shifters alike.”

“You lay this all out to your wife when you were discussing it?”

“We discussed it.”

Chris isn’t impressed by this essentially non-answer, and he doesn’t blame him.

“Until Oz, or more accurately, until I killed Cathy Rockwell, my marriage to Gen was rock solid. Me eating one meal a week I didn’t particularly care for isn’t proof of deeper, unspoken underlying issues.”

Shrugging, Chris wins the first round. “Speaking of biological warfare, what are the chances someone sent something to the mailroom and finally eliminated all the Nazis? That’d explain us being in lockdown.”

“Assuming we weren’t automatically cuffed on a bus out of here, Feds would be swarming the place, and they’d make even the most invasive shakedowns our hacks have done look like a joke. Besides, after Cyril’s present to O’Reily was confiscated, I don’t think the Aryans will be running the mailroom much longer.”

The expression on Chris’ face, the look of a troublemaker unbelieving he’s about to defend the actions taken against his best friend, is amusing. “As glad as I am about that, and I genuinely am-”

“He didn’t have to be an absolute dick about it. O’Reily probably would have been reasonable about things if he hadn’t been.”

“No argument here. Still, what if someone did do something to permanently get all Nazis out of here?”

“There’s no way to fully clean any place of white supremacists, and-” He considers how to word this. “You can do whatever you want, but you start a war with anyone here, you won’t have my support. With Vern gone, the Aryans are significantly weaker. If they start getting strong again, I might do something. But I’m not looking for trouble during times of relative calm.”

“You do something, I do something.”

That isn’t how things work, and it isn’t how they should, either.

_That ain’t how that works._

He has the feeling Chris’ interesting moral outlook on life would make Chris primed to argue if he tried to explain: if he decides to do something stupid and/or risky, Chris is not to get involved, especially, because, he means it when he says that, if Chris gets involved in anything stupid and/or risky, he’s not doing anything to risk himself to help Chris.

…

When the door’s opened for a hack delivering lunch, Chris asks, “Yo, where’s Murphy?”

He’s not surprised at the lack of an answer, but since Toby is getting worried about the lack of Irish coyote sighting, the lack of any response whatsoever annoys him.

Part of him is worried, too, but for less altruistic reasons.

So far, Murphy has let him sleep wrapped around Toby, but other hacks, a lot of them will insist one convict to one bed or it’s to the hole. It’s only a matter of time, and Toby won’t be fighting when this happens.

He tries to steer away from these thoughts.

“McManus is still around.” The way Toby looks at the baloney sandwich- since there are no other options, it’s not funny, but if there were, it would be. He’d forgotten how much Toby hates that particular lunch meat. “Unless Murphy’s dead, that means, whatever’s happening, it’s not incredibly serious.”

“Murphy isn’t dead. He’s an idiot, though. You know how long he’s been pathetically trailing after _McManus_?”

Toby shakes his head, and he gets the feeling Toby might be about to defend one or both of them.

If Toby does, he’s sitting on all of Toby’s books.

“I don’t have to understand it to feel bad for the guy. It’s real, sincere love. Unrequited. I had a few crushes growing up, and that was hell. I can’t imagine, though, how loving someone and knowing they’ll never feel the same must feel.”

“I can. Been there.” Sitting down, he pokes at his own sandwich. “Want my peaches?”

Toby shakes his head.

“But it’s not like he doesn’t have the power to change it.”

“You can’t make someone love you back.”

“He could tell McManus.”

“I can imagine how terrifying that would be. And add their friendship, to possibly ruin it-” Toby finishes removing the baloney.

“Some things are more important than being afraid.” He holds up his cheese, and moving from the chair, Toby comes over to sit on the bunk with him. They trade meat for cheese, and he continues, “They aren’t friends, Toby, and he isn’t free anymore than we are. Only thing is, he’s doing it to himself. Most of the time, ‘truth will set you free’ is bullshit. But not when you love someone. You love someone, you tell them.”

“And risk losing them?”

“You can’t lose someone you don’t have. What kind of life is it to know, however small, there’s a chance at having everything you want, and then, always deciding not to take it? If you tell someone and they don’t reject you, you have them. If they do reject you, that type of hurt, it’s incredibly painful, but you have a chance of getting over them, finding someone who does love you that you can love back.”

Ronnie pops into his head.

If anyone accused him of using Ronnie- in some ways, he does love Ronnie. But the first time they had sex, even completely shit-faced, he knew it might be a bad idea. The sex was good, and Ronnie was the same afterwards, only, Ronnie wasn’t.

He knows Ronnie was in love with him, knew it back then, and as much as he did love Ronnie, as much as the sex was good, he couldn’t be in love back.

It was a horrible feeling.

He honestly doesn’t know if he deliberately self-sabotaged or if Ronnie really was good at heading it off, but the few times he resolved to lay it all out, _Ronnie, I want good things for you, you’re one of the few people I genuinely love, but I see you loving me, wanting me, in a way I’m never going to want you, and I don’t want that for you. Find a man who feels the same way about you that you do me,_ _and then, find a way to get the hell over me_ , it hadn’t happened.

He’ll never blame Ronnie for him being in Oz, but four dead bodies, Virginia on his ass, and Roberto Chang, in the mix was the thought of how any of those four could have so easily been Ronnie, how Virginia’s kid was what Ronnie might have been if not for homophobic asshole parents, Ronnie was a strong deciding factor in the decisions he made.

McManus isn’t a good guy. He’s not a crusader or even a genuine bleeding heart. He’s a hypocritical jerkwad on a power trip.

All the same, he does feel bad for McManus in this instance. McManus loves his friend, and it would be genuinely upsetting, hurtful, to know the pain and never-gonna-be-fulfilled hope the person he thought he knew better than anyone was feeling. On another note, he sometimes thinks Murphy truly believes the ideas McManus sprouts more than McManus himself does, but wouldn’t that be a blow to know one of your biggest supporters is motivated more by want for sex, a romantic relationship, than by agreeing with the ideas presented themselves?

“People can fall in love with the wrong person. They can fall in love with people who are bad for them. What if it’s literally not safe to tell someone how you feel?”

“Then, get as far away from that person as possible,” he answers. “Sister Pete and I, we talked about Corinthians, chapter 13. Do you know it?”

“About love being kind and patient, right?”

“Yeah.” Leaning back on his elbows, he says, “I’m not really religious. Went to Catholic school for a while when I was a kid. Near got several rulers broken over my ass. But I remember things like that. Quotes, verses, some sermons. Love’s one of the most important things in the world. And some people deserve it, and some don’t. It shouldn’t be wasted on the ones who don’t.”

“You really believe that, don’t you?”

He nods.

A change comes over Toby, and the fact he doesn’t know what to make of it unnerves him.

Standing, Toby goes over to the chair. “Why’d you do it? I know, we’ve talked about it. But I don’t think I’m ever going to understand. It was easier, y’know, when you were just a conman and I was just an idiot mark.”

His chest hurts, and he knows he deserves it.

“Toby-”

“I thought you either hated me or were indifferent to me. And I cried more than I want to think about over it. I had crazy ideas swirling inside my head. I was so, so very angry. But then,” Toby takes a deep breath, “it was freeing. You hated or were indifferent to me, and at least, I knew. What kind of insane person would ever get fooled twice?”

“I’m not-”

“Yeah, I know,” Toby says, and he gets the feeling Toby really does. “Even after what you did in the quad, I tried to convince myself. He was a sacrifice, if you’re willing to let a werewolf take pain, it stands to reason you’d force and reverse a pain drain. It all could have been a plan, you being away when they struck, you being a lure, something.”

Toby catches his eyes. “Except, I can’t convince myself of any of that. You do love me, and I love you. It doesn’t- You owed Schillinger a debt, and apparently, I made you feel weak? Vulnerable?”

As much as he wants to, he knows going over to Toby wouldn’t be good.

“I might have been in love with Bonnie. I don’t know. Kitty, she’s drop-dead gorgeous, and I was in a phase where I was considering going legit. She wanted a reformed bad boy, and when it became clear I wasn’t going to be that, we split.”

“Angelique, she’s gorgeous, too, and the fun we had- Eventually, though, the sex got stale. We started to become domestic, and neither of us were really suited for that. For all she wanted kids, that would have been the biggest mistake. Her oldest niece, though, kind of liked me, kind of liked being able to torture someone, so, she somehow kept finding ways to contact me, and usually, I’d talk to Angelique when she did.”

“Bonnie- She had more than tendencies, Toby.”

Interest clear on his face, Toby leans forward.

“I’m not saying she’s a bad person. She’s never even gotten a speeding or parking ticket. Most people, they think she’s shy. Kind. And she does do kind things a lot, but-” He considers how to word things. “I was exciting to her, but she wasn’t going to get dragged into my world. Mostly, I could be honest with her about anything. She wasn’t always sympathetic, but she never condemned me for being me. I never had to worry about her knowing too much.”

“That day, when I was getting drunk on moonshine, I thought about telling you things, things I didn’t even tell her. And that scared me. It’s not an excuse, but it’s the truth. I was falling in love, and- this is prison. Sure, podmates can change. But I almost told you things that you could have used against me. I owed Vern a debt, I- and this is prison. It’s not like disappearing is an option.”

Finishing his sandwich, Toby nods. “Okay. Want to pretend to be McManus? I need to practise my presentation for movie night.”

“Toby, do you think I’m a wrong person? Someone bad for you?”

“Well, I guess we’ll see.” Toby comes over. “Presentation?”

He nods.

…

“Meatloaf.”

Toby shrugs. “They’re still giving us knives. I’m not sure what this means.”

“How long can they keep us in here without telling us why?”

“The minimum they have to provide is 3 fifteen-minute showers a week, three meals every day, and clean sheets every 7 days. After a certain amount of time, if we can’t wash our clothes, clean uniforms and underwear has to be provided, but I’m not sure how much time that is.” Toby frowns. “I’m definitely asking Shemin when we finally...”

The words are so casual it takes a minute to fully register them, and when he does- he takes a deep breath. Not only would an outburst possibly get him thrown in the hole, it could permanently ruin things with Toby. He’s well aware he’s on incredibly shaky ground, and it’s not going to get truly steady for a long time.

“What is it you like so much about him?”

Toby stares at him. “Chris?”

“Shemin. Why-”

“Chris, we’ve talked about Saïd and me meeting with people from Unit J. You’re going to meet with people from Unit B. Shemin is in Unit J, and-”

He wonders why in the hell he ever got the dumb idea to suggest trying to get movie night started to Toby. If he’d known it would put Toby in further contact with Shemin-

“And you sure you aren’t excited to see him for old time’s sake?”

“This was your-”

“Don’t remind me.”

Great, now Toby looks pissed.

Well, so what, another part of thinks. Breaking bones would be fair. Stealing his clothes would be fair, if ineffective due to the fact he really wouldn’t care. But the one thing he’s never done or threatened to do is-

No, he’s never threatened to be with someone else. He hasn’t been with anyone but his own hand since before he came here. Breaking his heart, though, or even just lying to him, he acknowledges with a twist to his stomach, that would be-

“Chris,” Toby’s firm voice brings him out of his thoughts.

Sighing, Toby comes over. “You ever taken someone’s pulse before?”

“No? Uh, I’ve felt my own before.”

Setting his tray on the floor, Toby sits next to him. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do.” Extending his left arm out so that his palm is pointed up, Toby wraps the free hand around his wrist. “Index and middle finger.”

Toby gets them pressed on a vein on Toby’s wrist, and he jumps at the feeling of- the feeling of his own pulse creeped him out, and it’s unnerving having the strong beating under his fingertips, but it hits him this is proof Toby is alive, here, now.

“I didn’t lose my virginity to Gen, until the kids, I was the only blond in my family,” underneath his fingers, the pulse changes, “and I hate baloney. Now, which of that is a lie?”

“You being the only blond,” he guesses.

“That’s right. My brother is blond, too, and so was my grandmother. Surprise can produce a false positive. But you already knew that part, didn’t you?”

He almost winces at the change underneath his fingertips.

“Ask me about Shemin.”

“Toby-” He starts to move his hand, but Toby’s free hand wraps around his wrist.

“Something has to change. You lied to me. I never lied to you. Now, ask me.” Toby removes the hand.

“Do you like him?”

There’s a slight shrug, and the pulse doesn’t have any significant change. “I don’t dislike him. I also don’t want him. I guess you could say, at one point, I did. When I got out of the hospital, I wanted to feel something good, and I wanted some sense of control. He was nice to me, easy on the eyes, and willing. We had fun. Two times. I’m not going into detail about what that entailed.”

He had no intention of asking. Based on the look Shemin gave Toby, the way he touched him, he could make a safe guess what happened both times, but he’d rather not think about it. He didn’t have any claim to Toby then, but now, someday, he’ll have what Shemin had.

“What about anyone else? Was there? Is there?”

“Only you, Chris.”

His own pulse is shaky at the steadiness of Toby’s.

“I’m not going to do anything with Shemin, but I’m not going to avoid him, either. He could be a big help in getting movie night off the ground, and if we’re in the laundry room together, there’s a good chance we’ll end up talking. It wouldn’t go any further than that. You can either believe this, or we can talk about whether our relationship is a good idea or not.”

Nodding, he gently squeezes the wrist before letting go. “I trust you, Toby.”

“Good.” Turning his head, Toby kisses him. “I’m not fully there yet, but in a lot of ways, I trust you, too, Chris.”

…

A flashlight shining on them wakes him and Toby.

“Seriously, Murphy, you don’t even need a flashlight,” Toby mutters. “You’re just being a dick.”

“Keller, get back into your own bunk.”

“Alright,” he agrees.

“What’s going on, Murphy? Why have we been in lockdown?”

Murphy starts to leave, and Toby continues, “Fine, but tomorrow, Andy needs to see Doctor Nathan.”

He’s not a shifter, but even he immediately recognises Murphy’s reaction to these words aren’t good.

Before he’s fully off the bed, Toby’s gone over. “Did something happen to Doctor Nathan? Murphy!”

Using his nightstick to push Toby back, Murphy orders, “Keep him in bed,” before almost slamming the door shut.

“Toby?” He slides down.

“It is her,” Toby quietly says. “Something’s wrong or happened to or with the doc.”

…

**The Night Before**

_I tried to fight back_ , floats through Gloria Nathan’s head. _God forgive me, I tried. Father in heaven, forsake me not_.

She can’t move. The taste of blood is still horribly delicious, sharp, in her mouth. Everything is too loud, too bright, too painful, too much.

The sun didn’t have a smell, but now, it does, and she knows, if she stays quiet, she’ll die.

_Die. God forgive my sins and trespasses, lead me not into temptation but deliver me from evil. I am your faithful servant, I have always kept my oath, please, forgive me, I tried to fight._

Her mouth screams before she can make a decision, and it curls the blood of nearby animals.

…

It’s supposed to be the doctor’s break, but hearing the ambulance approaching, he shoves his cup of coffee back into the lounge’s refrigerator with a sigh.

Washing his hands and putting on his gloves, he goes out to see, on the gurney being wheeled in, the head nurse is sitting on top of the patient with her hands doing what the restraints weren’t. Looking at him, she directs the paramedics with a tilt of her head. “No dead man’s blood just yet.” Then, pressing firmer on the wrists, she says, “Sweetheart, keep focusing on my voice. This is St Elaine’s Memorial Hospital. We’re taking you into the restricted ward where there will be much less stimulus, and then, we’re going to...”

He follows, and once the thrashing patient, a young, Latina woman, is properly restrained, the nurse wipes her own face. “She’s one of ours.” Handing him a bag of personal effects, she continues, “Dr Gloria Nathan, works at Oswald State Penitentiary.”

Knowing reminding her of the newest name change will only irritate her further, he says, “I’ll call them.”

“Her emergency contact-”

“Is who you’ll call. I know you don’t like it, but state law mandates-”

“I’m not done protesting that newest law.” After looking over at the patient, she leaves.

…

Not bothering to knock, Murphy comes into Tim’s office. “Whole place is locked down. What the hell’s going on, you calling lockdown at this hour?”

“Close the door.”

Complying, he asks, “Tim?”

“Gloria- she was attacked. At least one vampire. Possibly more. She was found in the park near her house. Taken to St Elaine’s.”

Seeing the blinds are closed, he starts undressing. “Get the syringe.”

“What? Sean, I can-”

“Timmy, you’re staying here, and I’m going to check on our Gloria. Traffic’s a bitch, and there’s a rogue vamp or more out. Once I figure out what she needs, I’ll come back for you. Keep the place on lockdown ‘til then.”

Tim sighs, but thankfully, he doesn’t argue.

There’s one substance that allows shifters to do a full shift even within the mountain-ash lined walls of Oz, and only three vials of it rest in Tim’s safe. They’re a bitch to replace, but- Gloria.

Finishing undressing, he catches the collar Tim tosses him, and leaning down to get his badge, he attaches it to the collar before clasping the collar around his neck.

Coming over with the syringe, Tim quietly says, “Be careful.”

“Don’t worry, Timmy. She’s tough. Just stay in your office as much as possible.” Giving Tim a quick hug, he briefly rubs their foreheads together.

The needle goes in painlessly, and moving back, he shifts.

…

“I know, sweetheart,” the nurse says. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve seen my fill and then some of this. But one potential positive is this might be helpful in dealing with your future patients. Are you ready to come back, Dr Nathan?”

The phial containing the liquid she was trying to get down Gloria’s throat goes flying, and she moves back before teeth can sink into her skin.

“Okay. We’ll try again in an hour. But when we do, you need to take it, or we’re going to have to do an IV drip, and for vampires that’s-”

She steadies the bed.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry to keep saying, ‘You need,’ but-”

The bed abruptly stops shaking, and as much as Gloria can with her hands restrained, she reaches out. A weak, “Sean?” fills the air.

Turning, the nurse sees a werecoyote standing in the room, and hitting the call button, she produces her claws before going over.

When she kneels down, he raises his head to bare his neck, and she sees the badge. Slowly, with one hand poised to swipe, she reaches over with the other to examine it.

The doctor and security come in.

Looking up, she says, “Sean Murphy, a correctional officer at Oz. He’s fine.”

Nodding, the doctor goes over to get a gown, and security leaves.

Once Sean’s shifted back and slipped on the gown, he goes over. “Hey, Gloria,” he softly says.

“Hey,” is the small, tearful reply.

Giving a soft smile, he moves some of the hair out of her face. “It too soon to ask how you’re holding up?”

Letting out a small, shaky laugh, she shakes her head.

He looks over at the nurse and doctor. “Reversion?”

The nurse shakes her head. “Whoever attacked her had human blood. Some of it was already digested by the time she was found.”

“Okay.” Sighing, Sean catches her eyes. “Gloria, this might make you feel weak, physically, but it’ll also help. Shh.” He places a hand on her forehead, and black veins run up his arms until she gives a soft buck of her head, and they both exhale when he withdraws.

Then, Gloria begins crying tears of blood.

Grabbing some tissues, the nurse wipes them. “Dr Nathan?”

Gloria nods.

“I want to undo the restraints, but I need assurance you won’t try to hurt yourself or anyone else.”

Fear enters Sean’s eyes, but he stays quiet.

“I promise,” Gloria says. She looks in the nurse’s eyes. “I’m calm.”

As the restraints are undone, Sean softly asks the doctor, “Is there any evidence she-”

“No,” the nurse says. Helping Gloria sit up, she continues, “Her attacker or attackers left Dr Nathan too weak to move. She was found by some joggers, and she didn’t enter into a feral state until after we gave her a dose of werewolf blood.”

To Gloria, she says, “Unfortunately, we’re required to place you under a 72-hour hold.”

Gloria nods. “I understand.”

“Here.” The nurse starts to bring another phial up to her lips, but Gloria swats it away.

Catching it, the nurse softly says, “This is horse blood, Dr Nathan. The horse it was taken from didn’t die and felt little, if any pain. I understand this is a radical change for you. Believe me, I do. But you are still alive, and you still need nutrients to keep you healthy and strong. Have you ever had a patient who’s gone through this?”

“Yes.”

“And what did you tell them,” is the gentle but insistent prod.

“Monster is what you do, not what you are,” is the almost inaudible response.

“Vampires are alive, and they have wants and needs, too. This thing called humanity, I still see plenty of it in you, Dr Nathan, and drinking this will only help you. Once you’re stronger and have, hopefully, come to a better place mentally, you’ll be able to start building a life. It might be different from the one you had, the one you wanted, even, but it doesn’t need to involve cruelty or pain.”

Gloria’s hands shake, and the nurse makes sure nothing from the phial spills as it’s brought up to Gloria’s lips.

…

**Present**

Lockdown is lifted, and at breakfast, Toby looks at Ryan with a wrinkled nose. “You smell different.”

“Probably product,” is the quiet response. “This damn lockdown came at the worst possible time, man. I’ve been sitting with that shit for near three days.”

Andy shifts as he picks at his food, and laughing, Chris ruffles his hair. Andy knocks the hand away, and kicking Chris, Toby orders, “Don’t be a prick.”

“I’m just wondering: We sure he’s Vern’s kid?”

“Considering ole Schillinger’s feelings on drugs,” Ryan points out.

Giving them both a look, Toby asks, “Andy, you up for doing more to help get movie night going?”

Brightening, Andy eagerly nods.

…

After breakfast, all Em City residents are herded into the quad.

“Dr Nathan is taking a leave of absence,” Murphy announces. “I don’t know when exactly she’ll be back. Nurse Grace will be taking over for the next day or two until another doctor arrives.”

Andy tugs on Toby’s shirt. “Toby, I don’t need the lactase.”

“We’ll see if I can go with you.” Toby looks at the other two. “She’s not dead. That’s good. O’Reily, your wife?”

Ryan shakes his head. “She’s in Ireland, visiting family.”

“I’ll call my dad, see if any of the firm’s investigators will be willing to do some unofficial-”

“Hey.” Chris strokes his arm. “I have people, too. More specifically, I have a teenage girl who, ever since the local library got computers with internet connection, has spent almost all her free time there. Swear to Christ, she loves being online more than she does hanging out at the mall or gabbing on the phone. Bet she could find out what might be going on.”

Toby and Ryan share a look, and then, Toby nods. “That’d be great.” He and Chris share a quick kiss. “See you at lunch. Andy, let’s go try to catch Murphy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: In our universe, the Tuskegee experiment was from 1932 to 1972, and from everything I’ve read, none of the African-American men were deliberately infected by medical workers/government officials. In this fic’s universe, things happened differently. 
> 
> If all goes according to plan, the next chapter will be titled Healing, and the one after that will be Family. In Family, Holly and Gary will make an appearance.


	5. Healing (Part 1)

O’Reily’s odd new smell is still clinging to him, and Toby’s beginning to wonder if he should try to convince him to go to the infirmary despite the newest doctor being only marginally better than creepy Nurse Grace.

“You’re not still thinking of shanking that Aryan, are you,” Andy’s slightly desperate voice breaks into his thoughts.

Looking up from his cards, he shakes his head. “He started it.”

“Even Keller thinks you-”

“What does he know?”

“That he doesn’t want you to end up in the hole or worse?”

Frankly, if he were Chris, he might be fine with him going to the hole for a few days.

Sleep deprivation is a legally recognised form of torture, but for two nights, Chris had been content to curl up in their, his, too-small bunk despite being woken up every two-to-three hours.

Last night, with no nightmares or erotic dreams, it was finally a good night for both of them.

“Don’t worry, Andy. I’m not thinking of shanking anyone. I’ve realised it’d even further severely impede my ability to have a good night’s sleep.”

Uncertain but largely relieved, Andy nods. “Hey, Toby, your kids, will they all be werewolves?”

“I have very little doubt Holly will be one someday. Usually, werewolves start manifesting shortly after puberty starts. It’s too soon to tell with Gary and Harry.”

Some kids, like Holly, show signs early. From the little attention he managed to pay to his son, Gary hadn’t shown any signs before he was arrested, and if Harry’s had any flashing eyes, a rarity but not completely unheard of in future shifter children, no one’s noticed yet.

“What if they’re human? I mean, the boys stay human.”

“Heaven help anyone who pisses off their werewolf sister,” he proudly answers. “And even Holly, if she never manifests, no one is going to mess with her or them.”

He remembers, when Holly was either in pre-K or kindergarten, he and Gen were called in. Holly’s a little angel, they were told. And she poured paint over Johnny Thompson’s head earlier when he stuck his hand up Gracie Newton’s dress.

After talking about it, he and Gen had decided to take away her TV privileges for the week, and he still remembers, now with pride for her and shame at himself, how irritated and helpless he’d felt when she’d literally shrugged.

She hadn’t protested. All she’d done is ask if she could still watch the movie her class was going to watch on Friday, and he’d had the feeling even then, if they’d said no, she wouldn’t have protested this, either.

“Did your family care about you marrying a human?”

“No. My parents loved Gen. My grandmother- her objections had more to do with me than with Gen being human. She’s always liked my little brother more than me.”

“My gramps didn’t like me or Hank either, but Hank had more in common with him.”

He reaches over with his free hand to squeeze Andy’s. “My family isn’t a typical werewolf pack. We’re all betas. My grandmother ran away from her abusive pack when she was sixteen, met my grandfather, a bitten werewolf, and they had my dad. My mother’s mom was a bitten werewolf who had her with my human grandfather. And actually, my grandmother, her great-great grandfather was a werecoyote. But none of us are werecoywolves.”

“But you’ve never been worried about them maybe not being werewolves?”

“I worry about my kids all the time. I don’t know if that’s normal for parents or just me.” He remembers, the alcohol made the worry go away, and wanting alcohol made the worry go away, but the few times he was sober and not desperate, he often felt a combination of worry and irritation towards them.

His parents are good parents. They loved him, they did a good job of protecting him without stifling his independence, they made time for him, they never pushed him too hard.

How did their son turn into him?

“Whether they’ll be werewolves are not, though, that’s always been low on any worries I have. There’s nothing wrong with being a human, and there’s nothing wrong with being a shifter. Whatever they’re going to be, they’re going to be, and I’m going to love them.”

Andy hesitates. “Saïd’s said there’s biblical prohibitions against interracial relationships.”

He can’t help but laugh, and he almost makes a quip. _That’s_ one area where Saïd has undeniably managed to fall short, but then, the point is, this doesn’t matter.

“And do you think there should, therefore, be legal prohibitions against interracial marriage?”

Squirming, Andy shakes his head. “No. But-”

“But?”

“I don’t want to believe the wrong thing.”

“Andy, if this is about what I believe, you and I are going to occasionally believe different things. Like the fact you insist baloney is a legitimate food and I would argue all the way to the Supreme Court that shanking whoever is responsible for having it labelled as nutritionally sound would not qualify as any form of murder, homicide, or any other sort of unlawful death.”

Laughing, Andy relaxes.

“When it comes to bigger things, it’s the same. Obviously, I’m not going to associate with someone like your dad, but generally, people who have different political, religious, and even moral opinions can still be close.”

He catches Andy’s eye. “You have to start deciding for yourself how you feel and think about different things, Andy. Listening to other people’s perspective can be good, but you can’t just go with, ‘This person I like believes this, and that makes it right,’ and, ‘This person I trust doesn’t agree with this, and that makes it wrong’.”

Sadness comes over him, and he tries not to sigh. “I’m sorry you had your dad and grandfather. Parents are supposed to teach the basics of right and wrong and help kids learn how to form their own opinions on other things as they grow. I’m sorry you never had that. That you have to try to find your own way here, now, in this place. But that’s the way it is, Andy.”

“I don’t remember much about my mom,” Andy quietly says. “I think of her, sometimes. But I mean, she married my dad, had two kids with him. I never heard her call people certain things, but she must not have minded when Dad and Gramps did.”

“She was your mom. Whether she was a good person or not, there’s nothing wrong with loving her. Missing her. And sometimes, people can end up with people who- Love can be complicated, and good people can end up with bad people.”

He brushes the thoughts brewing away.

“Okay, but what do you think about it?”

“I think, if you don’t believe whites and non-whites should marry, then, don’t marry someone not white, Andy. But the right for sound-minded individuals eighteen and older to decide whether they want to marry or not marry, to stay married or get divorced if they choose the former, these are important human rights. And,” he lays his cards down, “that’s important. You don’t try to take other people’s rights away.”

Setting his cards down, Andy is clearly considering this. “What about- kids who are both? It might not be right, but a lot of times, they suffer more than kids who are just one colour do.”

“True enough.” He starts dealing. “The world is a dangerous place full of hateful people. It likely always will be. If a person decides not to have kids, even though my wife and I made a different choice, I can respect a person making this choice, regardless of why. Likewise, for all Gen and I tried to be prepared, for all we’re both lucky our parents’ are really stepping up for the kids, there is a possibility something could happen to our babies someday.”

He can’t stop his shudder. “But it’s a risk all parents take. The fact the risk is greater for some doesn’t automatically mean they’re wrong for taking it.”

Sensing Chris and looking over to see him walking into the quad, he pushes a chair out.

“Who’s winning?” Sitting down, Chris squeezes his shoulder.

“We’ve both won once so far.”

“Is O’Reily around?”

“He’s doing something involving Adebisi.”

“Okay. Hopefully, he doesn’t end up dead.”

“Looking for him for a specific reason?”

“Yeah. You and the kid, too.”

Andy flips Chris the bird, and he probably shouldn’t be encouraging this by laughing.

“Doc Nathan is a vampire now.”

The words are so nonsensical he lays his cards down. “What?”

“Before you say anything, Sandie Marie doing this might not have been exactly legal, but clearly, she’d be doing something like this even if I hadn’t called. Somehow, she got access to St Elaine’s Memorial Hospital records, and on the night McManus sent out the lockdown order, Gloria Nathan, Hispanic, was admitted under a 3-day hold. Victim of non-consensual vampric transformation, reversion not possible.”

Rubbing his face, he lets out some choice words. “But- that doesn’t- It doesn’t make sense, does it? Doctor Nathan usually leaves around 9 p.m. It takes anywhere from 20 to 45 minutes to get from Oz to her apartment depending on traffic. She’s attacked. If she’d gone into a frenzy, hurt a human or even another shifter, she’d be under a 4-0-9, not a 72-hour hold.”

“I have my doubts she would go into a frenzy, though,” he continues. “But regardless, the only reason reversion wouldn’t be possible is if she drank human blood. I looked up St Elaine’s when I first got here, and the staff was 62% shifter; unless that’s dramatically dropped, the chances any responders were shifters is high. Legally, all medical responders are required to carry 2 ounces of donated shifter blood and .3 of human blood extracted from a corpse, the latter of which would not prevent reversion.”

A thought hits him.

“Yeah, we’re there,” Chris says in an amused, almost fond tone. “The dead man’s blood could kill the transformed human, but if it doesn’t, it won’t act like living human blood and complete the transformation into permanent vamp.”

He nods. “So, again, how’d she get the human blood without going into a frenzy? I don’t care how good her bedside manner is, there’s no way in hell she was entrancing people or doing old-school seduction so soon after being infected.”

“Um.” Andy takes a deep breath. “You won’t like hearing this, but it sounds like my dad might have been right about something he told me and Hank once. He said that vampires who turn unwilling humans, a lot of times, they’ll either have a human, entranced or just a groupie, nearby or a vial full of blood taken from a living human.”

“There have been cases of that happening, yeah. It’s not something I like, obviously, but good on Vern for giving you and your brother accurate information on something involving shifters that might actually protect you if you come across a dangerous one. I’m, uh-” He considers how to best phrase it.

“What are the chances of Doc Nathan being randomly attacked, and what are the chances of this being something legit planning went into,” Chris supplies. “I’ve heard about vamps coming prepared with human blood, too, but it’s almost never a random human walking down an alley. It’s someone important or someone who knows someone important. Someone who pissed off someone important.”

“Dr Nathan’s important.”

He squeezes Andy’s hand. “Yes, she is. To us. To her family and friends. Hell, she probably literally saved my life before you came. But to most of the world, she’s a prison doctor, and while there’s something admirable in that, it’s not someone most people are going to have a strong opinion on one way or the other.”

Noticing Chris’ chemo signals have changed, he looks back over.

“You wouldn’t have died.”

“Not the gym,” he says. “Before you came, too. I massively overdosed on a combination of violet wolfsbane, heroin, and speciality moonshine.”

As glad as he is she didn’t, there’s a reason beyond having a weak stomach when it comes to corpses, blood, and the bodily fluids of strangers that he never would have made it in a career involving medicine. Namely: If someone swiped claws at him (several times, before they finally got him restrained) and said the things he had said, he would have washed his hands and just let the person die.

“What’s going to happen to her, now,” Andy asks.

“That’s a good question.” Chris leans back in his chair. “Legally, does this change anything for her, Toby?”

“No. If she didn’t hurt anyone, she’s purely a victim. No registration required. I don’t know if she’ll want to come back or not, but if she does, she’ll have McManus, Murphy, and most likely, Sister Pete in her corner. I have no clue how Glynn would feel, but if he does disagree, I’m betting he won’t disagree enough to go against them. If she doesn’t want to come back, there are plenty of other places that would snap her up in a heartbeat.”

“How is going from human to vampire going to change things for her in other ways,” Andy asks.

He doesn’t know how to answer, and neither, it seems, does Chris.

…

In Sister Pete’s office, Chris asks, “What was Toby like before I came here?”

“About a month before you came, he was starting to show marked improvement. Before that, he was severely traumatised. And before that, he was dealing with Vern.”

“When did you find out what Vern had done to him?”

“I’m not going to give you an exact answer on when. What I will say is that, as soon as I found out, I made sure he would never be Vern’s cellmate again. I tried arguing for Vern to be put in solitary.” She sighs. “It’s an inhumane, psychologically damaging practise that, as both a psychologist and nun, I have often protested against. But unless there’s massive prison reform, it’s also one of the only solutions there is to protecting those such as Tobias.”

Nodding, he looks around the room.

“Is something wrong with him?”

“We were talking to Andy earlier about the doc’s sudden leave of absence. He said that she might have saved his life when he ODed on heroin, wolfsbane, and shifter-effective moonshine.”

“There’s no might about it. She did save his life.”

“I don’t know how to answer your question,” he quietly says. “As far as I know, he’s doing fine. No drugs, no alcohol, not feeling bad about anything. But what are the signs? If something goes wrong in the future, how do I spot it before it’s too late?”

“There’s a possibility you wouldn’t be able to. Addicts, especially well-educated ones, can be very clever, cunning, in hiding what they’re doing.”

“We share a cell. We shower together, eat meals together. I’m literally sleeping next to him every night.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Sex has become-”

“No. The first night he let me move back in, I asked if I could just sleep in one of the bunks with him, and he said yes. Murphy tried to make something of it, but that was the night- Toby mentioned Andy needing to see Dr Nathan in the morning, and Murphy high-tailed it away. None of the hacks have tried again yet.”

“Are you afraid of him relapsing?”

“Should I be?”

“People who love addicts deal with this in different ways. Some believe, once their loved one is clean, they’ll stay clean. Others worry.”

“And some ask which camp they should fall under,” he replies.

“What would you do if he did?”

“Assuming I knew, tell you.”

“Okay. Tobias relapses. You tell me. What do you think happens next?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been around addicts all my life, Sister. And I never had much use for any of them. I hated Vern’s anti-drug stance, because, it meant I could barely ever smoke some dope. But I guess, part of me, always found it- He was always in control. I could always count on that.”

“Are you worried about Tobias being out of control?”

“I’m worried about- I love him. I want him to be safe. Happiness, real, true happiness, it never comes in a place like Oz, but him not being sad or down on himself, him having some good times, I want all that for him.”

“Do you believe he wants the same for you?”

He shrugs. “I’m a simple man. I don’t have nightmares. I’m good at protecting myself, and I don’t beat myself up over much. I’ll regret helping Vern hurt him until the day I die, but other than that, hey, I did bad shit, now, I’m in this place for however long it takes me to die.”

There’s silence.

“Do you ever feel any remorse for killing that store employee?”

“No.” He lets out a quiet chuckle. “Sorry if that’s what you weren’t wanting to hear, Sister, but it’s the truth. If I knew I was going to get 88 years, I might have chosen a different store, chosen to wait a different day, chosen a different strategy, something. But the truth is, eventually, I would have robbed someone, even if it wasn’t him, and most likely, I would have been caught. Got three strikes in some state that does that.”

“He had a family.”

“Most people do.”

“He was a human being.”

“Would it have been better, more okay, if he was a werewolf like Toby or some other kind of shifter? Yeah, I killed a person. Technically, two. I’m not sorry for either. Was robbing that store and shooting him a stupid idea? Yes, but I have shit-for-brains ideas on occasion. As for that Nazi, I feel even less remorse.”

“Why?”

“Because, that was genuine self-defence. I had no idea when, or even if, SORT or anyone else would come soon. Most of the prisoners were in their pods, and Toby was dying on the floor. I wasn’t risking that scumbag regaining consciousness and trying to hurt us.”

“Maybe, he wouldn’t have woken up. Maybe, he would have been too weak if he had. Sure, these thoughts were probably in my head, but I was truly scared Toby might die, and one of the first steps in trying to prevent that was making sure the one who just tried to kill him didn’t get another chance.”

“What if the employee had similarities to Tobias?”

“I didn’t know Toby back then. And I once watched some girl go off on this guy in a bar. I guess he groped her ass or something, I don’t know, but she was yelling about how would he feel if someone did whatever he did to his daughter or mother or sister. On the one hand, she had a point. On the other, though, people care more about theirs, their family, their friends, people they know and respect, than they do about strangers.”

“Someone does them or theirs wrong, there’s a good chance they’ll retaliate. They do someone not theirs wrong, and they usually know that someone, someday, might come after them with a grudge, but it often ain’t going to stop them. You have any idea how many people love macaroni-and-cheese? Angelique’s nephew could eat that for every meal and be happy. If anyone ever hurts him, I’ll make them regret it. That doesn’t mean knowing a person loves mac-and-cheese is going to make me care about them in any way.”

She fiddles with her glasses. “You’ve got everything figured out, haven’t you?”

He laughs. “Sister Pete, I have almost nothing figured out. Don’t take this wrong: I like you. You’re interesting to talk to. But if I had even a slightly better handle on certain things, I wouldn’t be spending my free time sitting in a nun’s office, letting a shrink crawl and poke around inside my head.”

Chuckling, she nods. “Fair enough.”

Then, her smile fades. “When I was called down to the infirmary about Tobias, I wasn’t told about what happened in the gym. I was trying to imagine what might have happen? Did he do something, or did someone hurt him again? And in something I regret now, before I even started to make my way there, I tried to get you brought in.”

He flinches.

“That was a mistake, and it would have been even if you hadn’t been in anyway involved. I wanted to believe Tobias had finally found a genuine friend in this place There’s Ryan O’Reily, but he will place his own interests above anyone, even those he does have some measure of sincere fondness or respect for. My hope, wanting to believe, made me less objective in my actions. Anyway, I went down to the infirmary, and Tobias was sleeping.”

“Murphy told me his suspicions. I wasn’t sure whether, when it came to you or Metzger, if he was right or not. Vern, of course, he did it, and of course, there was a good chance he’d covered his tracks enough that he might never be able to be charged. Looking down at Tobias, however, I was less worried in that moment about who might have helped Vern and more about how he was going to handle things when he was able to move again.”

“Luckily, for him, his family, me, and yes, even for you, he didn’t turn back to drugs and alcohol. I’m hoping this means he truly never will again. An addict remains an addict until death, Chris, but some are strong enough that they can fully resist the call of their addictions for the rest of their life. I hope that’s Tobias.”

“But if it’s not, you need to be prepared. If he starts drinking or using again, indifference to your pain is a strong possibility, and him attempting to guilt you, regardless of what he feels towards you, is high. Addicts in the throes of their addiction will attempt to manipulate those who try to help them.”

“I’ll try to be prepared,” he says. “What are the warning signs?”

…

After his session with Sister Pete, Chris finds O’Reily in the gym, and gesturing to a section of the bleachers free from any nearby people, he goes to sit down.

“Hey, K-boy.” They slap hands. “Beecher and the kid told me about Doc Nathan. Ain’t that screwed up?”

“Yeah. How’d things go with Adebisi?”

Unsurprisingly, O’Reily gives him a suspicious look. “Good. There a reason you’re asking?”

“I played mule a few times, but I’ve never really gotten into dealing. Promise you, O’Reily, I’m not looking to get in on that. You like him? Or would you not be opposed to someone helping you lessen his involvement in your shared trade?”

“I don’t have a vendetta against him,” is the careful response. “This you and Beecher talking?”

“Hell, no,” he firmly answers. “Beecher and I have agreed, I can do whatever I want, and if I get caught or killed, it ain’t his problem.”

“And him? He can do whatever he wants?”

“No. Him, he wants to go against someone, I’m involved.”

“Are you sure you’ve both come to this agreement, K-boy?”

“We’re in agreement he doesn’t care what I do as long as it doesn’t involve him.”

Laughing, O’Reily leans back. “Your dick being the exception, right, K-boy?”

Sourness brews inside him, but he pushes it back as far as he can. “Naturally.”

“Where’s this interest in Adebisi and my business with him coming from?”

“I’m just up for a little fun, that’s all.”

“Try again.”

One look at O’Reily tells him he’s going to have to. “Beecher not being involved means-”

“I didn’t tell him you were going to break his legs. I won’t tell him about any plans me and you have to possibly empty up a few cells.”

He doesn’t say: It was his arms.

A few nights ago, Toby had a really bad dream, and he’d used the blanket to mummify Toby.

“Why can’t I move my arms again,” had been Toby’s bleary question when he’d finally started to come back into some sort of consciousness.

Once Toby’d used the toilet and drank some water, he’d crawled back up onto the bunk, and there’s a good chance he hadn’t even fully registered the fact he’d been temporarily immobilised.

He mostly believes this.

“Look, I’m not Vern. If Toby weren’t an addict, I wouldn’t care if he drank and did tits. It wouldn’t be my business.”

“But he is, and you’re afraid of what might happen if he does.”

“Yeah. And I’m thinking, if he ever tries, you and I can probably come to an arrangement that makes it much, much harder for him to access drugs, at least. I’m a little more doubtful about having such luck with anyone else, especially Adebisi.”

“True.” O’Reily looks around the gym. “What the hell. Adebisi is insane, worse than your law-boy ever was, and when it comes to Andy-boy, well-” Grinning, he shrugs.

“I’m not following.”

“The good thing about him not being an Aryan like his old man is we don’t need anymore,” a choice word is applied, “Aryans running around. But an interesting side-effect is: He decides to fall off-the-wagon, he’s not going to be so picky about who’s supplying. Now, I’ll never have the power over him Beecher does, but just knowing, things changed and I wanted to, I could hold a shit-ton of power over a Shillinger-” He lets the sentence hang.

“Good point.”

“You’d think Beecher would do more.”

“He ain’t like us. He doesn’t care about power. He’s learned it’s necessary to keep himself safe, but beyond that, he’s happy living in his own little world.”

“I guess, as long as he lets you in but doesn’t keep you all the time, you don’t have any room to complain,” O’Reily muses. “I’m in.”

Clasping the offered hand, he shares a hug with him.

…

Finishing putting his clothes in the washer, Toby glances around the room. “Hey, do me a favour and stay for about ten minutes, okay?”

Andy nods. “Sure.”

Going over to Nate, he asks, “It okay if I sit?”

Gesturing his assent and putting his book aside, Nate looks around.

He sits. “I’m sorry about a few nights ago.”

“I’d say sorry for leaving you, but you aren’t worth dying over.”

“Chris wouldn’t have killed you, but yeah, that’s fair. Uh, he and I, we’re sort of- together.”

“Noted.” Nate lets out a little sigh.

“Has the idea of movie night ever come up in Unit J?”

“I suggested it once. Yood was excited about it, but then, Silver, this bounty hunter we had, pissed off Glynn.”

“But just in Unit J, right? We were thinking about prison-wide.”

“It might have worked better if we tried that. You thinking minimum of trips to Ad Seg per unit or total?”

“I’m still trying to figure that out. Saïd is in. He and the Muslims are leaning more towards total. O’Reily, he’s in, too, and he’s arguing for per unit.”

Nate gives a thoughtful nod. “I have a friend in Gen Pop, Quentin Crawbly. He’s a kitsune. If O’Reily and Saïd are in, maybe, some of us could meet in the library. Some of them, they’d need a guarantee Murphy would be on guard. Quint and Yood wouldn’t care, but it’s probably best for the rest of us that there not be any Aryans joining.”

“That definitely wouldn’t be a problem.” Remembering Andy, he adds, “But Andrew Schillinger might come. Saïd will vouch for him.”

“There’s no need,” Nate says. “Everyone’s heard what he did to his dad in the cafeteria.”

Personally, he’s not sure why this would be the deciding factor in declaring Andy a non-Aryan. It’s not as if other neo-Nazis and white supremacists haven’t attacked Vern before. Granted, most of them didn’t survive long after, but no one questioned their commitment to white race superiority.

“One thing, though,” Nate continues. “I don’t want your boyfriend sitting anywhere near me.”

“Also not a problem.”

“I’ll talk to Yood and Quint, see if we can’t all get together soon.”

“Thanks, Nate.” He pats his shoulder. “Take care.”

“You too.”

He goes back over to Andy.

“Who’s that?”

“Nate Shemin. He’s from Unit J. We might have a meeting with some people from there and Unit B, no Aryans, and maybe some of the other units soon about movie night.”

Andy smiles, and he really does resemble a puppy.

Vern never could be happy, he realises. No kid was ever going to live up to whatever standards he had.

God, please, never let me be like that with my two boys and Holly. Please, even with how badly I’ve already screwed up, don’t ever let me be as bad as Vern was.

“You can go. I’ll put the clothes in the dryer when it’s time.”

“I brought the Chinese checkers board. Could you teach me how to win, Toby? Hill lets me sometimes, but I want to win on my own.”

“Yeah, sure. You, uh, don’t know that he lets-”

Andy gives him a look that reminds him of Holly. “Cheating’s cheating, whether you’re winning or letting someone else win. You usually have the same, what’s it called? Tells?”

“Yeah.” They sit down, and he asks, “What are Hill’s tells?”

…

O’Reily gives Chris a considering look. “Did this law clerk do something to you?”

He can’t give an honest answer, and knowing O’Reily, there’s a chance he already knows. “No. I just think it might be advantageous-”

“Big word, K-boy.”

O’Reily starts to say more, but seeing Andy has come in, he nudges him.

Andy comes over.

“Hey, Andy-boy. Where’s Beecher?”

“Hopefully, stopping Sister Peter Marie from doing an exorcism on her computer. A new anti-virus program came in, and I don’t think she and Toby agree on whether it’s working or not.”

Glancing over, O’Reily asks, “Your ex-wife’s kids see that movie?”

“Nieces and nephew. And yes.”

That wasn’t a good night. The kids had been fine, but their mama had been too uneasy to drive home, and so, he’d ended up on the couch so that she could sleep in bed with Angelique. Sandie Marie had offered to share her bed with him, but it was the lumpy, piece of shit couch for him.

“Want to wrestle,” he asks Andy.

Andy shakes his head. “I’m not al- Toby had me promise I’d never wrestle with you unless he was around.”

He automatically smacks O’Reily’s head.

Looking back, this makes sense, and it’s a little surprising it hasn’t come up before. Toby’s never really been obvious about it. The first few times he wrestled with the kid, Toby watched them pretty carefully, but then, he usually started having a book or talking to other people around.

He wonders how much of this has been an act. Surely, Toby doesn’t really think he’d ever be stupid enough to break someone’s bones in the middle of a crowded gym.

“Alright, well, he say anything about basketball?”

Andy shakes his head.

“O’Reily, want to see if you can get us one? See if this one does have any good moves?”

“Sure, K-boy.”

Andy takes O’Reily’s seat.

“Toby get my clothes clean enough to meet his satisfaction?”

“Yeah, and he gave me tips on playing Chinese checkers. Maybe I’ll actually beat Hill on my own soon.”

“Who all was there?”

“Some Italians, Fiona, and someone from Unit J.”

Damn it, he thinks. “Oh, yeah? Did Toby talk to this person from Unit J?”

“Yeah. We might have a meeting about movie night in the library soon.”

“That’d be good. This guy from Unit J, you catch his name?”

Andy gives what might be a nod. “I’m not always good at remembering names.”

“Was it Nate Shemin?”

“Is that one of O’Reily’s? If so, it definitely wasn’t this guy. I mean, you can’t usually tell if someone is Irish, right, so, he could be, but he definitely wasn’t one of O’Reily’s. But if he’s new, maybe, he will be soon.”

“What did he look like?”

“Like Toby, I guess. I couldn’t see his eyes. You don’t need to be worried. It looked like they’re friends.”

He tries to remind himself he didn’t have a claim on Toby. He does now. Toby promised-

Why does Shemin get to have what he hasn’t?

“Is movie night all they talked about?”

His heart sinks at Andy’s shrug.

“I stayed with the laundry.”

Toby will probably paralyse him worse than Hill, but he can get into Unit J undetected. His word against Toby’s. Murphy would believe Toby, but with no proof- “Did they go somewhere?”

“No. Toby asked me to stay for a minute and went to sit beside him. Then, when they were done talking, we played Chinese checkers, and the other guy went back to reading his book.”

Truth is, he’d rather not be paralysed.

Coming over, O’Reily lets out a small groan. “Finally got the damn ball.” Tossing it over, he rubs at his chest.

“You alright,” he asks.

“Yeah, I think that mystery meat last night was more indigestible rubber than any actual animal.”

Standing, he pulls Andy along. “He might, but I ain’t going easy on you, O’Reily.”

…

“Good afternoon, Tobias.”

“Sister,” he greets.

“How goes the planning for movie night?”

“Pretty good. There might be a library meeting soon, and as long as I can keep Chris’ attention off this one person, it should be fine.” Seeing her curiosity, he shakes his head. “Look, before we talk about him- I’m not telling you how I found this out, but I know about Dr Nathan, Sister. She’s a vampire now.”

“Besides saving my life, possibly several times over, she’s always been genuinely nice to me. And I know that niceness doesn’t mean she isn’t also incredibly tough. Strong. Being turned against her will, though, I can’t really imagine what she’s going through.”

“And I know you can’t tell me much, if anything, but is there anything I could do to help?”

Sighing, she gives him a sad smile. “You might be able to eventually. For right now, Gloria’s focusing on her family. It would be best if no one from this place contacted her.”

He doubts Chris would, Andy probably couldn’t without help, and O’Reily wouldn’t. “Got it.”

“Who do you need to divert Chris’ attention from?”

Starting up the computer, he considers how much he wants to tell her.

She waits.

“After I got out of the infirmary, I was- with someone. It was consensual. The day he got shanked, Chris found out about it. I, uh, promise you that the two things are completely unconnected. But after we got together, he found out exactly who this other person was.”

“And he hasn’t taken this well?”

On the one hand, he often thinks he’s being irrational.

Chris wants monogamy; this doesn’t translate into Chris being the type to be dangerously jealous. Chris has talked neutrally about Kitty having had several serious relationships since their divorce. Chris isn’t happy about Angelique possibly getting remarried, but he seems mostly concerned over his nieces and nephew than anything.

 _Don’t give me a reason to_ , hangs in his head. Chris only killing two people, once in self-defence and once due to intoxication, doesn’t mean Chris isn’t capable of serious harm. Two broken arms is proof enough of this, but beyond this, in the laundry room, he’d felt genuine fear for Nate at the look in Chris’ eyes.

He finds himself telling her about the laundry room offer and aftermath.

“Tobias, do you want a monogamous relationship with him?”

“I was going to turn him down, Sister.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Monogamy generally implies there is sex. Maybe for highschoolers and those younger, genuinely religious people waiting for marriage, and so on, healthy, happy, sex-less relationships are possible, but now- Chris has promised him time, but Chris does want more, and eventually, Chris will get tired of waiting.

When this happens there are several possibilities, and he honestly isn’t sure which of them is more likely to happen.

Now- his contradictory feelings and thoughts can’t settle.

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t mean what I want doesn’t matter. I mean, I don’t consider myself a sexually jealous person. When Genevieve and I first started dating, we agreed not to be exclusive. I only ever wanted her, but I did have a one-night stand. It made me feel bad afterwards. But I can honestly say I’ve never really thought about the fact she might have been with others, too, during that time.”

“And when we agreed to be exclusive, I kept that vow. There was one time in our marriage when I was tempted, but for all I eventually messed things up, that’s one instance where I can look back with pride. I was tempted, but I placed her, our children, and even myself above what was offered.”

“So, if Chris wanted to sleep with other people, fine. As long as he keeps things fair, I don’t mind going along with what he wants in that area. But if he had the right, so should I.”

Except, this isn’t exactly true, he knows.

If Chris wanted to sleep with other people but didn’t want him to, he’d probably go along with it. What he’d really want was no expectation of them ever having sex. That’d be fair, too. Non-damaged Chris gets his sexual appetite satisfied, and damaged him has a chance of feeling a little safer and less self-loathing in his chosen celibacy.

She nods. “Your parole hearing will be up soon. Have you considered...”

Parole.

He hasn’t thought about that in a long time. The idea of what that would mean for him and Chris-

…

Ryan deals his cards. “Heard you got into it with Coushaine, Beecher.”

Chris and Andy share a look.

“We had a disagreement about what exactly the practical applications of separation of Church and State should be.”

“Don’t your kids still go to private school?”

“Yes. Harry might end up in public school, but at least, all of Holly and Gary’s teachers understand-”

Looking past him, Ryan greets, “Yo, Murphy.”

“Schillinger, you have a visitor.”

Surprise and confusion cross Andy’s face, and then, he groans. “If it’s Hank, you might want to-”

“No, a Greta Schillinger.”

After a few seconds, Andy asks, “Do you mean Greta- Azoulay?”

Toby shakes his head at Chris’ look, and Murphy ignores Ryan’s.

“Schillinger’s the name she gave. Pretty-looking redhead, says she’s your aunt. Has your dad’s eyes.”

“He has her eyes, she was here first,” Andy says. “I’m not here!”

Even before the others look at him, he winces. “I mean, no. I’m not seeing her.”

“She brought food.”

…

Toby knows about Vern’s older sister, and it’s interesting Chris doesn’t seem to.

‘Aunt Greta married a Jewish man when she was 20,’ Andy told him. ‘My dad didn’t speak to her for years. She came over a few times when I was a little kid, but she and Dad always ended up screaming at each other. She treated me and Hank like babies.’

The last part was said with frustration and a sense of longing. Maybe, Mrs Azoulay did infantilise them, or maybe, she just treated them like little kids. He doubts many people did. Certainly, Vern and Vern’s father were never the type to do any coddling and likely only extended a few very basic protections towards the boys.

Murphy’s getting impatient. He threw out what’s usually the magic word: Food.

Say that to nineteen-year-old Andy, and for all he doesn’t appreciate Andy being called his puppy, it’s not an inaccurate descriptor when it comes to Andy in relation to food.

He guesses, even with her using her maiden name, Murphy doesn’t feel the typical disgust he feels towards most Schillingers, even Andy, towards her.

Give the kid a break, Murphy, he’s tempted to say.

Instead, he looks at Andy.

“The last time I saw her, she yelled at Hank. I mean, he definitely deserved it, but she’d never yelled at either of us before. Then, she just looked at me, and- I don’t know, man. I’m pretty sure she expected me to be just like him and Dad and Gramps. Which-” Andy shrugs.

“You carried Bismilla’s tray yesterday at lunch,” O’Reily says.

Yes, Andy did, but he’s not sure what this has to do with anything, and thankfully, the others are just as confused.

“Yeah, and? He was still loopy from seeing the dentist.”

“You might be Beecher’s puppy,” and of course, O’Reily was smart enough to move so as to not be kicked, “but no one thinks you’re Vern’s boy.”

He starts to point out, technically, Andy _is-_ but apparently, O’Reily’s words were what Andy needed to hear. Nodding, Andy squeezes his hand before standing up.

Then, Andy’s movements are odd, and he realises at about the same time Murphy does: Andy expects to be cuffed.

“No,” Murphy sighs. Putting a hand on Andy’s shoulder, he steers him towards the visiting area before letting go. “Anyone cuffed is someone who ain’t getting near the visiting room.”

…

Greta stands when Andy walks into the visiting room, and giving him a small, uncertain smile, she runs a hand through his hair when he gets close enough. “Hi, baby. It’s nice to see you still have your beautiful hair.”

Sighing, Andy moves his head to dislodge her hand. “It’s just hair, Aunt Greta.”

“You know, your dad started to lose his when he was only eighteen, nineteen. I guess that was good for him, considering. But when I saw that picture of Hank with his hair shaved- Can we sit down?”

He nods, and they do.

“I brought you spaghetti.”

“Um, would it be okay if I took it to give to my friends? It turns out, I’m lactose intolerant.”

“Huh. Yeah, of course. I- This explains some things about your dad, but I never would have considered that. Are you managing okay?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry, Aunt Greta. The regular doctor here, Dr Nathan, she’s taking some time off, but she’s really nice and smart. I take these two white pills called Lactase, and the people in the cafeteria give me different foods when what everyone else is eating has a lot of dairy in it.”

“Good. And otherwise, how are you doing?”

“I’m okay. When I first got here, they put me in with one of Dad’s buddies, but they have an addiction group, and a real nice guy in it offered to be my roommate instead. Now, I’m with someone else, one of the Muslims. But he’s been helping me study The Bible.”

“Well, that’s good. A Muslim Aryan?”

He shakes his head. “No. Aunt Greta, I’m not like that anymore. Toby and Saïd, they’ve really helped me. Dad, you’ve heard he was transferred, right?”

She sighs. “Yeah. I heard. Wende. I called him, or I tried to, but he wouldn’t answer my calls. Hopefully, he can get put in protective custody.”

“You think he’s not safe there?”

“Sweetheart, there are more black inmates than there are whites. More Spanish, too.” Giving him a sympathetic look, she adds, “I don’t mean to cause you to worry. For all my disagreements with him, I will say: Your daddy has always been a very strong man. Strong in his beliefs, and physically strong.”

“I hope he doesn’t get himself killed. But Aunt Greta, I’m not like him anymore. He was wrong about all those things he taught me and Hank. Um, except the not taking drugs part. I wish I’d seen that before I ended up here, but- I just want you to know.”

“That’s good.” She squeezes his hand. “I’m not sure you were ever like him or Arlene. Hank, he was always a lot like your mom, for good and bad. You- anyway, have you heard from your brother recently?”

“No. I haven’t seen or talked to him since before I got arrested. He left pretty soon after he turned eighteen. Have you?”

“No. Your dad was so worried, he called me when your grandpa told him Hank had left, but I don’t know what he expected me to do. His Jewish aunt up in Connecticut, I’m the last place Hank would go to.”

“If he was desperate for money, maybe not,” Andy says. “Hank- Um, I’m not saying he isn’t a lot like dad when it comes to black people and Jews, but also, he cares more about money and drugs than anything.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she sighs. “Look, I’d like to visit you again, Andy, but I can’t until sometime next month. In the meantime, though, do you need clothes, baby? I talked to Warden Glynn, and he said I could mail you things like clothes, pictures, books. No food, though, not even sealed things. You’d think candy bars would be safe enough, but he insisted absolutely no food.”

“I’m fine, Aunt Greta. I promise. Tell, uh, tell me about your husband. Irving, right?”

She gives him a wary look.

“He’s your husband. That makes him, um, a sort of uncle to me.”

“That’s right. Irv. He’s a Reform Jew, which means I didn’t have to convert to marry him. I became Jewish, because, through Judaism, I’ve felt closer to Our Creator than I ever did as a Christian. We met when I was sixteen and he was twenty.”

“Your father never believed it, but we did start out as just friends. He was new to the city, and once I realised he had a head for numbers and a love for key-lime pie, I’d buy him a slice, you want to talk about cheap, that manager of mine refused to let us have leftovers or even employee discounts, tell him it was on the house, and sit on his other books so that he couldn’t leave. He usually came near the end of my shift, you see, and finished his food by the time I was done.”

Andy chuckles. “Sitting on his books- that-”

“Sounds like your father? Yeah. He didn’t get much from me, but he got some things, kiddo.” She smiles a little sadly. “The one thing I’m thankful to your grandpa for is: He raised me tough, too. No one was going to keep me down. It didn’t matter if they were white or one of the colours he hated.”

“Irv helped you get into college?”

She nods. “I’ve always been good with numbers, too. At first, I just liked talking to him. I’d look at his college homework. But then, he insisted on helping me. He knew I eventually planned to go to college, and he was determined to make the process quicker and easier. We’d write letters all the time.”

“And by the time I was seventeen, we were and weren’t just friends. We both knew there was something there, but he wasn’t going to date a seventeen-year-old. When I turned eighteen, we started properly dating, and we decided when I was nineteen that we were going to get married. A few months later, we were.”

He nods. “And Dad and you didn’t talk for a long time after that, right?”

“Not until Hank was born. I brought flowers for your mom and some baby clothes I’d made for him, but your father threw the flowers away, told me the clothes would be next if I didn’t take them, and told me to get the hell out of the hospital. Then, you came, but I didn’t even know about it until a few months later.”

She touches his cheek. “When Hank was about four or five, you got a really bad ear infection. Vern called me. I don’t know if you remember, but you had a pair of Scooby Doo footie pyjamas. I bought them for you.”

“I, um, remember sitting on the couch and telling you all about Scooby Doo and some episode or movie we were watching. No one else ever wanted to listen to me about them.”

“You were a sweet little boy. Hank, like I said, he was a lot like Arlene. I wish things had been better for you both.”

Coming over, Sean says, “Excuse me, Ms Schillinger, but visiting hour is almost over. Your nephew’s going to need to get to his work detail soon.”

She looks at Andy. “Work detail?”

“I help the kitchen staff set up before and clean up after meals and, sometimes, I help serve the meals, too. I’m really not good at cooking or doing anything but carrying the inventory around.”

“Eh, you can blame me, your dad, and grandpa all for that one.” She stands up. “Your friends are getting spaghetti, because, it’s one of the few things I can make without causing a fire. Irv does most of the cooking, and so did your mom.”

Kissing him, she turns to Sean. “Officer Murphy, I think I have some paper and a pen in my purse. Could I give him my phone number?”

“There’s some over here, ma’am.” He leads them over. “If you want, you can also leave your information with Sister Peter Marie, and she’ll have it entered into our system. A lot of people here have trouble with phone numbers, and so, they go to her when they need help contacting people outside.”

“That’s good. Is Sister Peter Marie here today? And not too busy?”

“I’ll take you in a minute, if you want.”

“Yes, thank you.”

Handing the paper to Andy, she runs her hand through his hair again. “Listen, baby, I usually leave after eight in the morning, and except on Fridays, I’m home after six. I’ll come back sometime next month, okay?”

He nods. “Thanks, Aunt Greta.”

She kisses his cheek. “It’s good seeing you, Andy.”

…

After O’Reily leaves, Toby says, “You could have smacked him.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but don’t you generally have objections to me engaging in violence?”

He rolls his eyes. “Since when does whacking O’Reily upside the head count as violence by anyone’s definition, and yes, I’m including my own?”

“No one, even at your craziest, thinks you’d stoop to bestiality, Beecher. The kid’s safe from anyone thinking he’s your prag.”

The words register, and he shudders. For a long moment, all he can do is look at Chris. Then, he says, “Thank you for that lovely mental image. Andy’s a human being.”

“He’s a person,” Chris responds. “It’s occurred to me, people say that to make a point about how serious doing something bad to someone is, but technically, some people aren’t human beings. That don’t make them not people.”

Unable to help his small groan, he shakes his head at Chris’ look. He’s not sure how to explain the only person he’s met who could ever make such interesting observations was an old college philosophy professor, and Professor G was nowhere near as easy to talk to. He was an old man who didn’t like shifters or women, and for all he loved to talk, he tried his hardest not to get drawn into actual conversations with students, especially aforementioned shifters and/or women.

Occasionally, he has the suspicion Chris is smarter than him.

This would make sense. Gen is, and most of the people he dated or simply had crushes on before her were, too.

The difference is, Gen’s never felt the need to hide her intelligence, and he knows Chris does occasionally make himself appear less intelligent than he actually is.

“Yes, he’s a person. He’s also a fully grown man, and whether sex is implied or not, it’s not good to reduce someone to an animal following around someone else, especially in a place like this.”

“No one’s saying the kid can’t think for himself or that he needs your permission to wipe his ass. But let’s face it, you really think he would have been carrying that Muslim’s tray, be sleeping in Saïd’s pod, if you hadn’t made it how clear you really buy into that equality shit?”

“And you don’t?”

Chris shrugs. “There are situations where judging someone on their skin colour is the smart thing to do, and there are times it isn’t. Remember, me and Andy both got here for killing someone non-white. The two big differences are, I didn’t take that shot because of that guy’s skin colour, can honestly say that played no factor in my decision, and two, he feels guilty.”

He’s not surprised Chris doesn’t feel guilty. “Do you think he does? He’s never really expressed any guilt.”

A brief glimmer of what might have been softness goes through Chris’ eyes. “Oh, yeah, he feels guilty.”

“Then, he doesn’t need being compared to a pet added to things.”

“You’re the only one who minds.”

“Andy minds.”

“Or maybe he minds that you mind. You ever consider that?”

No, he hadn’t. “Doubtful, but: How would you like it if someone called you my puppy, Chris?”

“O’Reily has, and I did smack him for that. Or I think I did. It doesn’t matter, because, the comparison doesn’t hold. Kid has flashes of common sense, Toby, but- He’s not the idiot we all used to think he was, but if you hadn’t stepped up, he’d already be dead by now. He doesn’t have a cunning bone in his body, has no clue how to figure out who to trust and not, and has worse impulse control than me and you combined. Even if Vern had gotten him clean, he wouldn’t have been able to keep him that way for very long.”

He can’t argue with any of this, and he’s vaguely curious when and why O’Reily called Chris his puppy.

Realising he should just be relieved it was O’Reily and no one else, he prays no one else ever will. In addition to everything Chris just said, unlike the usually timid Andy who does try not to get into bad situations and only truly gets temperamental when someone he cares about is threatened or hurt, for Chris it would be a big deal.

“Beecher,” Murphy comes over, “Sister P and the Padre are discussing exorcisms, and I’m praying to God this is about her new computer program and not an inmate.”

“Yeah, I’ll swing by her office, make sure the computer’s doing okay,” he says.

Getting up, he start to leave before he finds himself turning around, and going over to lean down, he kisses Chris. “Love you.”

He almost reels from the softness and _happiness_ going on inside of Chris.

“I love you, Toby.”

….

After O’Reily and Andy join them at supper, Andy holds out a large container, and Toby rolls his eyes at Chris’ ‘told you so’ look. “Aunt Greta brought spaghetti.”

Taking it, Chris starts doling out portions.

“Don’t tell me she thought you’d like but-” O’Reily starts with a glance at Andy’s tray of food.

Feeling a little better at finally being able to smack O’Reily, he points out, “It has a lot of cheese.”

“Spaghetti has cheese,” O’Reily asks.

“My Aunt Greta’s does. So did my gramps’. Once when she was visiting, she made it for me and Hank, because, Hank kept going on and on about some kid in his class getting to have spaghetti every Friday night. After that, Hank raised hell until my dad and gramps started making it. Then, he got tired of it and started going on about that, and so, they stopped making it.”

“You giving some to your podmate,” Chris asks.

“I offered, but he’s not sure it’s halal.”

...

Sister Pete doesn’t appreciate it, but if setting up the sticky notes on her computer with green saying, ‘Hi, Sister!’, yellow asking, ‘Did you look at the list Tobias left in your second drawer desk, Sister?’, and red saying, ‘Sister, immediately close this program and either tell Toby or Father Mukada you’ve opened it,’ will prevent her from losing eighteen hours worth of data again, well, he doesn’t hear her coming up with any better ideas.

After this, it wouldn’t be unreasonable to wait until tomorrow to talk to Chris, but he knows he can’t start getting into the habit of putting difficult conversations off, especially when it comes to Chris and their relationship.

Once he’s in the pod, the door’s lock clicks shut, and they have about an hour, maybe two, if Murphy and that new guard get into another argument that requires McManus to play referee, before lights out.

He’ll give McManus this: He does have genuine loyalty towards Murphy, but when Murphy is wrong, he isn’t blinded by said loyalty.

“You know, I’ve been here almost four years. I won’t get it, but I’ll have a parole hearing soon. After that, in another two years, assuming no else like Schillinger comes along, I have a shot.”

Holly will be nine soon, and whatever horrible, hypocritical things this says about him, he finds himself increasingly worried about the fact she rides her bike practically everywhere. Harry’s had his first steps, already lost two baby teeth, and can’t sleep unless his big sister turns on his Garfield night-light for him, and it has to be her who turns it on. Gary’s finished kindergarten and first grade, and there’s one little girl who is the exception to his ‘all girls but Holly are gross’ attitude.

Other than surprise, he can’t get a read on what Chris might be feeling.

“Good. With Vern gone, it shouldn’t be too long. What’s the first thing you’re going to do with your kids once you’re out?”

“That- What do you think this’ll mean for us?”

There’s even more surprise, and it’s genuine, but if it’s hiding something, too, he can’t tell.

Chris shifts on his bunk. “I know we ain’t going to last forever, Toby. Until the end comes, though, you’re mine. I’m yours. No one else for either of us.”

“This isn’t about Shemin or anyone else. You really need to give that a rest. So, uh, when it’s time for me to leave, you’re-”

“I’m going to be happy for you.” Chris’ eyes hold his. “Anything else, I’m going to shove it aside. I didn’t get here by accident, pal. I don’t have kids. A mom, a dad, a little brother. So, hey, I’m guilty of falling in love with someone who does have all that. I can have you for as long as the state says you have to stay, or I can do something that’ll make you hate me with no going back this time. I’m not doing the latter, Toby.”

Coming over, he sits next to Chris. “Maybe, your sentence can-”

“Normally, I’d say keep dreaming, but really, don’t focus on that, Toby.” Stroking his face, Chris kisses him, and he knows, for right now, at least, Chris is going to make him focus on something else.

…

After lunch, he asks, “Do you smell something weird about O’Reily?”

“Not particularly, no.” Chris noses at his neck. “Why all this interest in how he smells?”

“Because, I’m worried something’s wrong. It’s not a good, that tickles!, smell.”

Drawing away, Chris says, “Must be shifter senses only, then. I’ve never really paid attention, but it seems to me he smells the way he always has. Not sexy like-”

“There are people around.”

More than this, he’s not- it makes him uncomfortable when Chris says things like this, regardless of whether people are around or not.

“They see me climbing up onto your bunk every night and climbing down in the morning.”

Yes, and no two people can discreetly have sex underneath the blankets all the time. Jerking off, sure, if a person is still and quiet, there’s a chance no one will ever know they did during the night, but the idea he and Chris are having quiet, fully covered, not much movement sex on a regular basis isn’t one anyone would entertain for very long.

Sooner or later- none of the options are good.

Finishing brushing his teeth, he kisses Chris. “Later.”

“Yeah, later. Love you, Toby.”

No sooner than Chris has gone is Andy popping in. “Hey, Toby, Saïd asked me to see if you’d come to his pod. His hypertension is really acting up.”

“Dammit. Yeah, sure. Glynn needs to get someone besides that creepy nurse and incompetent night doctor. What did she do to him?”

“I dunno. He’s been seeing her, but maybe, she isn’t giving him the right stuff. Like that time she tried to give me aspirin instead of Lactase.”

He squeezes Andy’s neck. “We’ll worry about that later.”

…

“If Beecher asked, would Keller help start a riot?”

Sean sits down on Tim’s couch. “Are you concerned about that, Timmy? I can throw Keller in Gen Pop and Beecher in solitary.”

The answer is: Probably, yes.

And though he honestly doesn’t want Keller dead, letting an essential lifer catapult themselves into an early grave isn’t beneath him.

God forgive him and have mercy on his soul.

Shaking his head, Tim rubs his forehead. “What do you think of this movie night thing?”

“We tried that in Attica. For a few years, it worked. Buddy of mine says they might be restarting it again soon.”

“But you got lucky about not having as many Nazis in Attica. If we implement this, the ones here will use it to, somehow, try to regain their dominance among the other gangs.”

Impressed Tim came to this conclusion himself, he nods. “It comes down to, then: Think it’s worth the risk?”

“Do you?”

“If you do, sure. If not, say the word, and I’ll try my best to minimise the fallout.”

“What if I’m wrong?”

“Tim, not to rub it in, but you’ve been wrong before. Hey, you want to help people, there are gonna be times you do more harm than good. Doesn’t mean people should stop trying to help others.”

It’s something he doubts any of the inmates will ever really see: Sure, Tim has some selfishness and something of an ego to him, but he realised when he was eleven that Timmy McManus really does _care_ about people, about the fact people in this world are suffering, and more than just caring, Tim’s been trying all his life to do something.

That’s someone worth protecting and supporting.

“What the hell,” Tim sighs. “But we’re having staff votes on what they can watch.”

“Want me to bring Beecher and Saïd in the morning?”

“Yeah. Bring Keller and Andy, too.”

…

Slipping into the psych ward, Ryan heads over to Peter Schibetta.

Looking up with glassy eyes, Peter says, “I know you killed him. He told me.”

“Believe what you’re going to believe.” Ryan sits down. “Hey, you hear much about Beecher before you got put in here?”

“Prag of one of those Nazi-” Peter looks to the side. “I’m sorry, Papa, but I can’t feel my legs.”

Ryan snaps his fingers. “Yo, you know he isn’t here. He’s nothing but those meds and your own screwed up mind. Listen to me, okay?”

“Okay,” is the unfocused reply.

“Schillinger did some bad things to Beecher, but he ain’t no prag. He’s got Schillinger’s boy, and Schillinger’s in Wende.”

“Poor boy,” Peter mumbles.

“Yeah, well, he’s not like Schillinger. Either of them. Look, you think I took out your old man, we can have that conversation someday soon. Right now, Adebisi is a problem for both of us. You want to be someone your old man could be proud of? Then, be like Beecher. Smart, quiet, saying what they want to hear until it’s time to really unleash the crazy. Get out of here, work with me, and we can bring Adebisi down together.”

“I don’t know if you know anything about Chris Keller, but he’s in. In some ways, he’s even more of a wildcard than I am, but he has a weakness, if I ever need it. And hey, if I did kill your father, maybe, I’ll do the same to you someday, but I can promise I’ve never done what Adebisi did to anyone, and I never will. Any man who’d rape a woman or kid deserves to die, and any man who’d do that to another man is pathetic. A sick freak.”

“Or I could kill you.”

“Help me take down Adebisi, and you can try.” Ryan stands up. “You should be clear-headed by tomorrow. I’ll be back, then. Give me your answer.”

He leaves.

…

Oz is going to have it’s first movie night later, and somehow, Toby didn’t manage to foresee this happening.

“When I find out who,” Chris grumbles, “I’ll-”

“Chris, the vending machines all being out of pretzels isn’t some conspiracy against you.”

“Someone heard me talking,” Chris stubbornly insists. “Look, I can do without the vanilla coke-”

“Which the machines have plenty of.”

“And I accept the fact there are no atomic fireballs. But I want some damn pretzels. There’s no way the machines all emptied so fast the day-”

“Maybe, other people wanted pretzels for movie night, too?”

“They could have left one bag for me!”

“Chris, I worked really hard to get this going. It was your idea, and you did a lot to help, but I worked very hard. Please, don’t do anything to ruin this before it begins. Especially not over a bag of pretzels.”

There’s a knock on the pod door.

“Hey, lovebirds, there’s a package, but the mailman is afraid of coming too close to the pod of gay love,” O’Reily says.

“You had to get the Nazis replaced with the Christians? Not that I’m- I’m trying not to complain, but really, what was wrong with the bikers,” he asks.

Chris chuckles. “Who’s the package for?”

“You.”

“Ah, crap. If Sandie Marie reneged on our deal and gave her little sis this place’s address, I’m calling their mom. Not much either can do to me in here.”

“Couldn’t the little sister just...” O’Reily starts.

The two continue talking as Chris goes to get his package.

He’s about to go out, too, when he hears, “I might have a third person who wants to join in our newest endeavour.”

“No Nazis,” Chris says. “Somehow, I’m thinking Beech’s objections to me helping shake things up around here will come out in full force if I do anything with them being willing contributors.”

“Not a Nazi,” O’Reily responds.

He finds himself painfully curious, and trying to quell this, he wishes O’Reily and Chris would have the intelligence and decency to discuss their secret plans somewhere more private than the middle of the quad when the latter’s werewolf boyfriend (or whatever he is) can accidentally latch onto their voices.

The thought of all the ways he could help them floods his mind, and he tries pushing these thoughts and feelings aside, too.

Digging out a book, he tries to read, and when Chris comes back, he notices a pendant hanging from his neck.

“Kitty sent it.” Chris drags the chair, with him still in it, of course, over to the beds, and sitting down, he holds it out. “Saint Dismas. My- Someone gave it to me before I was sent down to Lardner. He’s one of the thieves who was hanging beside Jesus during the crucifixion.”

“Did you leave it with her after the divorce?”

Coward, his brain says.

_Who gave it to you, Chris? How important were they? Are they still around? What makes it important to you? Do you identify with him?_

None of it really matters.

There was a time when he would have been desperate for such answers, but he doesn’t want to be desperate anymore. He doesn’t want to wonder if Chris is lying when it comes to anything truly important. He doesn’t want to say or do something that makes Chris think he’s a weakening influence ever again.

“Not by choice, but it wasn’t her fault. I lost it, and we couldn’t find it. She promised, if she ever did, she’d send it to me.”

Reaching over, he skims his fingers over it, and when he’s done, Chris kisses it.

…

Chris is too close.

He loved falling asleep next to Gen, but it was never like this. She never wrapped around him in this way, and he never did with her, either.

It makes him wonder how Chris can even sleep properly, never mind the fact Chris often _doesn’t_.

Safety or something close to it is what he feels, and he wishes he could explain why. Sister Pete could probably help, but that would require engaging in extremely uncomfortable conversation.

Chris, though, he must be able to feel every shift in movement and breathing. Having heavy skin underneath- Aside from thrashing and catapulting up, does he move in his sleep? Talk? Gen never complained about him snoring, but this doesn’t tell him whether he does or doesn’t.

“This is what happens when people like Fiona get a vote,” Chris grumbles.

“Sure you aren’t biased due to the lack of pretzels?”

“You didn’t like the movie, either.”

“Well- only partly true. It was nice. Having movie night. It-” almost felt like a date. “It was fun sitting there with you beside me.”

He moves a little, and taking in the smell and warm heat emitting for Chris, he meets him for a kiss.

No one’s ever kissed him the way Chris has. Sometimes, the thought makes him feel uncomfortable guilt, but right now, it’s simply a fact. He hasn’t been this excited to just kiss since he first started kissing.

Some part of him knows it won’t just be kissing for long, and this is fine. His hands have a mind of their own, desperate to touch every part of Chris, and Chris’ hands are the same.

He’s getting impatient with Chris’ hands meeting mostly clothes instead of-

A rap on the door almost makes him fall off the bunk.

They look out to see one of the new hacks glaring at them.

“Maybe you should-”

However, at Chris holding his hands up, and then, coaxing them both down before wrapping back around him, he hears the hack moving on.

“Murphy generally knows which battles he’d be smart in taking,” Chris mutters. “And if there are others less smart, I’ll show them the error of their ways.”

“Chris.”

A nuzzled kiss against his cheek is the unrepentant response.

Concentrating on his and Chris’ breathing, he channels his mind towards having good dreams or, at least, not having nightmares.

…

Ryan sits down. “Hey, Schibetta.”

Peter carefully sits up. “You were here. Yesterday.”

“Yeah. I was here. I offered you the chance to team up to take down Adebisi.”

Chuckling, Peter looks up at the ceiling. “Chucky doesn’t want me back.”

“Man, Pancamo would kill you if he could get enough of your dad’s loyal followers on his side. He didn’t love your dad. He doesn’t love anyone. But some of the others, they did, and it’s that love that makes them feel compelled to keep his screw-up son around. Or at least, still alive.”

“So, why should I go back?”

“Because, you have a wife, don’t you? Heard she calls every week. When you get out, you could probably still have a kid. Someone to give them hope of your dad’s bloodline continuing.”

“That’s if one or both of us doesn’t kill one another.”

“Yeah,” Ryan agrees. “Look, I got a brother. In some ways, he’s always going to be helpless against certain horrible things in this world. Your dad, my beef with him was personal. Adebisi, he’s a threat to someone else important to me. And frankly, I’d rather there be Italians running around than raping nutjobs like him.”

“Because he’s black?”

“What’s that have to do with anything? Schillinger was white. Hill’s good people. Probably would be even if he could walk. Saïd- is a major annoyance, but I’d trust his word.”

Peter nods. “Everything is still a little- blurry. But I’m here. My father’s dead. Schillinger has a son?”

“He has two. One’s here. Andrew. Goes by Andy, and he’s Beecher’s little tagalong. Beecher has no sexual interest in the kid, but he does really care for the runt.”

“Andy’s not an Aryan?”

“Doubt he ever really was. He’s got the tats, and he ended up here for helping his buddies drag a black man behind their truck, but mainly, he was just an isolated, drug-addicted boy who didn’t know how to think or stand up for himself. He’s Saïd podmate now.”

“Not Beecher?”

“Nah. Beecher and Chris Keller are very close.”

Catching his eyes, Peter says, “I know you killed my father.”

Ryan shrugs. “You also know I’m the only one who’s taking anything about you serious. This is Oz, Petey-boy. Prison. I can help you with Adebisi, and I’m the only one willing.”

“How’d you get in here?”

“I can get in almost anywhere. Problem is, I can’t say the same for getting out. Wonder if that’s irony.”

“Alright.” Peter takes a deep breath. “What do I need to do?”

Leaning over, Ryan offers his hand.

Peter stares at it.

“You’ve shaken with worse than me.”

“Killing my father is the worst,” Peter quietly says.

Nevertheless, he shakes.

…

Prison is supposed to be restrictive, and Toby can, to a reasonable extent, accept this.

He didn’t have time to miss sex with Genevieve before Vern’s torture started.

Now, he’s starting to understand why some of the others are so pissed about conjugals being taken away. At least, they had some privacy to express their sexual urges.

There’s no stalled bathrooms, never mind private ones, for inmates. The showers always manage to have, at least, one other person.

He _could_ jerk off in the showers or the pod, but- no. He’s not jerking off when there are other men within literal touching distance, and if he did it in the pod-

How Chris would react is anyone’s guess, and this is largely Chris’ fault. He’s always around, his smell takes precedence over others, and at night, he’s a warm, solid, ever-present presence.

The idea of finding a few minutes alone in a storage room has crossed his mind, but knowing his luck-

“How are you doing today, Tobias?”

Could I use one of the staff restrooms for a few minutes, Sister Peter? For reasons not related to being desperate to make my penis give my mind some peace?

“I’d be better if conjugals were reinstated. Do you know how many people keep complaining about it? If there’s ever a riot, that will be one of the first demands.”

Making a small sound, she responds, “Sex can be a powerful bonding experience between loved ones. In addition, it’s one of the more persistent urges many people feel. However, as I once told you, Tobias, conjugals are often about something deeper than just sex. They were a chance for people to experience true intimacy with one of the people they loved very deeply.”

“Maybe so, Sister P, but- Look, I’m sorry I’m grumpy. I’m just tired of hearing what everyone would like to do in such graphic detail. A lot of people here miss sex. I can understand that, and I’m sure some of them genuinely do miss being able to share something special with their wife or girlfriend, but there’s a difference between saying that and going into detail on what position they liked best in the middle of lunch hour.”

Chuckling, she comes over to squeeze his shoulder. “It’s alright. I imagine you’ll quickly be able to tune them out. But other than this, you’re doing okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

She goes back to her desk. “Good. When you get done with the inventory charts, I’ve convinced Glynn to let me start a victim-offender interaction program. I need you to colour-coordinate some folders I’ve pulled.”

“Got it.”

…

“Kid’s getting better,” O’Reily comments.

Glancing over at Chris and Andy, he nods. “You smell even-”

“Not this again, Beecher,” O’Reily groans. Picking up some weights, he continues, “Seriously, you need to stop focusing on how I smell. It’s creepy. Can’t you just nose Keller at night after lights out?”

“He smells the way he should. You don’t smell like you used to.”

“Things change, including people’s smells. I’m sure if you paid as much attention to your boyfriend’s smell as you do mine, you’d know that.”

His stomach churns.

O’Reily just made it cross his head: Oh, right, I have a boyfriend.

Whether this is the right word or not, he has Chris.

Probably.

He’s not thrilled with the idea of sex in a glass pod, but lights out, if he could endure some of what Chris wanted, it’d end in him getting off, too.

Chris would be hurt if he knew these sort of thoughts were in his head, but he has little sympathy for this fact and a lot of relief it’s unlikely Chris will ever realise said thoughts exist.

Vern would have killed him if he was ever sexually with someone else during his time as a prag, but-

Being with Nate was safe. Being someone who no one truly desired, just someone certain people wanted to dominate with sex as one of the tools, he made peace with that once he started being able to defend himself.

Chris hasn’t been with anyone, and this isn’t merely a person’s trust and/or faith in their loved one. Since they became podmates, he'd be able to smell anyone else on Chris, and he'd know if Chris was taking showers at odd times.

If Chris was-

Everything needs to stop being so confusing and mixed up.

“Hey, Toby, are you going to wrestle?” Andy bounces over.

“No, never doing that again.”

He ignores both the pang shooting through his arms and legs and the chemo signals coming off Chris.

Remembering he gave Andy some money to call his aunt, he asks, “Did your talk with your aunt go okay?”

“Yeah. Aunt Greta’s mad at a garbage-man who ruined one of her nine-year-old neighbours science project garden.”

“Alright.” Chris slings an arm over Andy’s shoulders. “I’m pretty sure I’m going to regret this, but sit down, Andy, and break this down for us.”

“Well, one of her neighbours is a nine-year-old named Amy Weiss, and for science class, she’s growing...”

…

Sister Pete smiles. “How are you doing, Peter?”

“It’s kind of funny, you and I having the same name. Weird. Uh, look, Sister Pete, I want to go back to Em City. I’m- I still have nightmares. And I’ll be honest, I’m scared. But my head is clear, and I’ve been thinking about my father a lot lately. I know he wouldn’t want me to keep staying in here. I need to face things.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re head is clearer. However, I’m worried about the fact you’ve stopped taking your medication so suddenly.”

Twitching, he scratches at his arm. “Yeah, the side-effects are something else. But- I kept seeing my father. They didn’t stop that. Thing is, I think they might have played a part. Someone, I’m not sure who, but someone told me a couple days ago, ‘You know he isn’t here. He’s nothing but those meds and your own screwed up mind.’”

“And uh, I didn’t want to listen, but some part of me realised- it was the truth. He’s dead. Something bad happened to me, and I don’t want to talk about it. I really don’t remember much, but I do know what happened, Sister. I just- I want to see my wife again. I want to be back with the people my father loved and respected. And someday, I want to leave this whole place, not just this ward.”

“Okay. That’s good. I know Rosalie wants to see you very badly. Listen, Peter, I can’t authorise you leaving right a way, but why don’t you let Rosalie come visit you? In addition, you and I can start having weekly sessions. I’ll see if there’s anything that can help with the side-effects of you coming off your meds. If you continue to make progress, there’s a good chance you’ll be able to leave soon, and I’ll see if Leo is willing to let you back into Em City.”

Sighing, he nods. “Thanks, Sister Pete. That all sounds good.”

…

Toby made a promise to Murphy he wouldn’t kill Chris.

He will keep this promise.

Grabbing a chair from near the TV area, Andy sits down next to him. “Is it Keller or the Aryans?”

“What?”

“You either want to kill your boyfriend or the Aryans. I mean, part of you always wants to kill the Aryans, but the look on your face,” Andy makes a weird motion with his hand, “you only get it when they do something to really piss you off or you want to kill Keller.”

“He hasn’t done anything.”

“So?” Andy shrugs. “Even before you got together, there were times when he’d just be nearby, not doing anything, and you’d get that look.”

God, was it easier when he was just warring between indifference and righteous anger.

“Well, that’s not good, is it? The Aryans, who I ideologically oppose on almost every level, have to do something personal for me to start considering murder, but the man I’m in a relationship with, he can just be minding his own business and end up the target of my irrational ire.”

“Almost every level?”

“In 1956, there was a court case, and while I don’t believe they were propelled by good intentions when protesting, and as much as I hate saying this, uh, the white supremacist group that was the leading group fighting against it were right. They got a law that, if it had been passed, would have been very bad for this nation stopped from being passed, and the arguments they used to do this were reasonable.”

Of course, one of the leaders also called the only black senator in office several choice terms and words on live television, and in addition to being horrible, that almost resulted in the law getting passed, but- still, whatever all this says for America’s legacy, white supremacy once played a part in helping uphold civil liberties.

“Did that involve some guy named Justice Kennedy?”

“Yep. Your dad?”

“That happened in the fifties, man,” Andy grumbles. “If he was even around, then, he was still little. He kept getting pissed that I wasn’t making good grades, so, the one time I asked him for help, I swear, he spent a month or more bitching. Um, also, do you know how many seats were in President Kennedy’s car, because, for some reason, he was all riled up about that, too?”

“Either four or six. I don’t remember. What did he think?”

“I don’t remember. Just that he was sure he was right.”

“Naturally.” He bumps his shoulder against Andy’s.

Chuckling, Andy gives him a soft look. “So, what did Keller do?”

“Nothing. It’s not him I’m mad at.”

“What did you do, then?”

“Why do you assume anyone did anything?”

“Do you want to talk about whatever’s bothering you, Toby?”

He considers the question. “Alright, look, this stays between us.”

Andy nods eagerly. “You can trust me.”

“Have you- I know he hasn’t done anything. Okay? I really do. Um, do you- have you- Has he ever looked at someone the way he does me?”

Based on the look Andy gives him, he might as well be running around in full Crazy Beecher mode.

“No. He never would.”

“Well, I mean, it wouldn’t necessarily say anything bad if-”

“Toby.” Andy squeezes his wrist. “Look, everyone knows he’s in love with you. When, uh, when I first got here, maybe, I didn’t get that right away, but I knew he wanted you and that he cared about you. I thought- to be honest, I thought that was the reason you hated him so much. Because he was gay or bisexual or whatever.”

“Then, when I found out he’d done something bad to you- before you told me about what he and my dad did, I sort of wondered if maybe that something bad was just trying to kiss you or making a move. Which, I know can be not cool, but I didn’t think he’d done anything like the other stuff my dad did to- certain people.”

“Have you ever noticed him showing signs of sexual interest, attraction, when it comes to anyone else?”

“No. You’re all he wants.”

Andy, he knows, is likely right.

And this is worrying and confusing in several different ways.

“Toby, if you- um-”

Sensing where Andy’s thoughts are, he shakes his head. “I’m not interested in anyone else. I just don’t understand how he can be like that.”

“My dad was. Towards my mom. I don’t know what would have happened if he went to prison when she was still alive, but if he was ever with someone else while she was, he was really, really good at hiding it. Everyone, including Aunt Greta, says she was the most important person in the world to him. He’d do anything to make her happy, and he never really showed any interest in women after she died.”

Wonderful, so, I’m with someone who shares even more qualities with Vern than I first thought, goes through his head.

“Weren’t you like that with- when you were married to your ex-wife?”

“I tried to be a good husband. I never cheated on her. I- we might have married too young. Yes, I would have done anything to make her happy, or at least, I hope I would have, but things with her were very different than the way things are with Keller.” Spotting Chris coming into the quad, he says, “And speaking of.”

Standing, he waves.

…

After lockdown, Chris heads over to the sink. “What were you and the kid talking about? It looked serious.”

“We talked about his mom and Vern some. Did you ever meet her?”

“No. I saw a picture, once, but I think that might have been before they were married.” Chris strips off his shirt. “He doing okay?”

He finds himself staring at the scars on Chris’ back. They’ve healed well, thin and only a shade or two different from Chris’ skintone, but he remembers how small and almost ghostly Chris looked lying on the hospital bed, and he remembers how the pain he took in the cafeteria felt.

Going over, he puts his hand on Chris’ shoulder, and in the mirror, Chris smiles. When Chris tries to turn, however, he gently squeezes.

Leaning down, he kisses the scars, and the air changes instantly.

You _do_ want me, hits him.

He knew this, yes, but- he’d thought he’d worked everything out in his head, and he hasn’t. He doesn’t understand why Chris wants him, he doesn’t understand how, after what Vern did, he’s managed to find himself wanting another man, especially after what Chris did, and he doesn’t understand why and how he got himself into this situation in the first place.

Heading to his trunk, he asks, “Want to play?”

“Sounds good. What are you thinking?”

They play until lights out, and he quickly falls asleep, only to be awakened by the soft sound of Chris’ feet hitting the floor, and he groggily wonders how Chris managed to get over him to slide down without waking him.

Then, he realises Chris is jerking off into the toilet.

...

Everybody but him is having sex.

Despite producing the thought, his brain is unimpressed. He knows Andy, Saïd, O’Reily, Sister Pete, probably Murphy, and plenty of others aren’t, but he’s at the point where he has to do something.

Handing Chris some syrup, he quietly says, “Maybe, we can do something tonight.”

Pouring the syrup over his pancakes, Chris responds, “Oh, yeah? What are you thinking? If it’s another game of-”

“After lights out.”

He doesn’t think Chris has fully got what he’s suggesting, but Chris does look over. “What are you thinking of, Toby?”

Several different instincts war inside him, and taking a breath, he lowers his hand under the table, and a jolt goes through them both when it finds Chris’ thigh.

Giving a gentle squeeze, he answers, “Something other than sleeping.”

Chris’ pale eyes are suddenly incredibly dark, and underneath, his hand squeezes Toby’s. “I like that thought.”

Seeing Murphy eyeing them suspiciously, he brings his hand back up and resumes eating.

…

After breakfast, he does some work for Sister Pete.

“Alvin did this when you were in the hospital, and it worked just fine.”

“You mean, he flirted with Glynn’s assistant, and she did this.”

“I suppose-”

“Sister Pete, how old was said assistant?”

“She just turned twenty.”

“How old was she when she started learning how to work with computers?”

“About preteen age, maybe, a little older?”

“Do you want to fight Glynn to get your own twenty-something assistant? Honestly, I wouldn’t blame you, and even though it’d put me out of a job and force me to go back to the dress factory, I’d say, you’d probably get a whole hell of a lot done, a lot faster. But unless you do that, there are a certain way things need to be done, because, I can’t work with this. Andy and Kenny are two of the youngest in here, and Andy couldn’t even do this and he took computer classes in school.”

As much as he usually respects her tendency to defend other inmates, if she tries to say Kenny might, he will point out Kenny is a sociopathic brat who, if he does have any experience with computers, will use semi-unrestricted access to one to do bad things, and he will dare her to contradict this.

She sighs. “Very well. Do you know how to make it go back, or do I need to see if I can find her and convince her to temporarily pop over?”

“I think I’ve got it.”

“Tobias, speaking of Andy, I’m having him in for a session later today. I don’t want you to worry when the guards come to get him.”

“Thanks for letting me know, Sister. You haven’t heard anything about Vern, have you?”

“He’s in protective custody. A black inmate attacked him, allegedly unprovoked.”

“Is the inmate still alive?”

Nodding, she says, “I’m told Vern came out much more battered and bruised than the other man did.”

But still alive, unfortunately, he thinks.

…

He and Chris are supposed to meet Andy and O’Reily in the gym, but before he can get there, he’s startled by Chris suddenly appearing. “Toby.”

Then, he’s being pulled into a nearby storage room, and Chris pushes a box in front of the door with his foot.

Exasperation and uneasiness fills him at the smells emitting from Chris. “I said after lights out. I’m not-”

His brain might have short-circuited a bit at the sight of Chris on his knees in front of him.

“This is all I’ve been thinking about all morning.” Picking at his belt, Chris asks, “Can I, Toby?”

“Uh-” Words, sentences, he does know how to use them. Taking a breath, and this turns out to be a mistake, because, Chris is definitely not lying about how much he- “I haven’t had much experience with this. Being on the receiving end.”

Somehow, Chris’ smile manages to be a combination of gentle and sharp. “How ‘bout we start changing that right now?” Continuing playing with the belt, he adds, “It’s okay. If it doesn’t work out this time, there’ll be other times, other things. Can I?”

There’s a chance of them getting caught, he knows, and his body would really appreciate it if his mind would shut the hell up.

“Yeah, um, uh-”

Chris has got his belt undone and pants pulled down to his ankles.

…

Coming into the gym, Toby kisses Chris. “I’m going to go see if Andy and the Muslims could use another player.”

He heads over to the basketball court, and going to sit next to Ryan, Chris sprawls out.

Looking between the basketball court and Chris, Ryan notes, “He’s halfway decent.” Slinging an arm over Chris’ shoulder, he continues, “So, K-boy, what exactly happened between breakfast and now to give him so much energy and make you look like the cat who ate the canary?”

Letting out a low chuckle, Chris watches Toby score a point. “I’d have no problem telling you, but Toby would probably object, and him objecting would mean it’d be a long time before I could get a repeat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: I apologise for the long wait. I'd planned on doing a chapter every week, but life and the fact Healing has turned out much longer than I planned changed things. There will one or two more chapters, and then, Family will come.
> 
> On another note, I have things planned for Peter, but originally, I didn't have any plans for him to be in this fic. However, from the beginning I had some planned interactions between the Italians, Toby, and Chris, and I realised Peter being in the mix would help these interactions happen much more naturally than any of the ideas I first had.
> 
> Holly and Gary will still appear in Family, and Greta will be back in future chapters, too. Eventually, Chris' nieces and nephew will also show up, but I'm not exactly sure when. One of them might show up in Family or one of the Healing chapters, but I'm not sure yet. Gloria will definitely appear in one of the Healing chapters; I've got several big scenes planned for her.


	6. Healing (Part 2)

His dad and gramps never liked Catholics. In elementary school, the kids who didn’t bring their lunch had the choice between fish sticks and whatever else was being served on Friday. He’d gotten them occasionally until his dad found out, and then, there’d been hitting and screaming, the second from both his dad and gramps, about how people would think he was Catholic.

He hadn’t bothered asking why this would be a bad thing. He’s never wanted to be Catholic, but most of the Catholic kids hadn’t seemed so bad. Now, there’s Keller and O’Reily, but this is prison; most people in here have, at least, done something bad, even if they aren’t bad people.

“Thank you for coming, Andrew.”

Even though he didn’t really have a choice, he gives what he hopes is a polite nod.

“Has Tobias mentioned anything to you about me starting a victim-offender interaction program?”

“To Keller,” he answers. “They were talking about it when some of us were playing.”

“What do you think of it?”

“I, uh, don’t really. Toby seems to think it could be a good thing. Keller doesn’t seem to, but um, he hasn’t actually said that. And I don’t know what Saïd thinks. Is Dr Nathan coming back soon?”

“I hope so,” she sighs. Then, fiddling with her glasses, she gives him a smile like the one Toby gets when he’s not sure of something but is hoping it’ll turn out alright. “Um, Andrew, I’ve been talking to Mr and Mrs Lincoln. The parents of the young man you and your friends killed. I was wondering if you’d be willing to do the program with them.”

…

It occurs to Chris that, if Toby wanted to seriously hurt him, this would be a prime opportunity.

He promptly shoves that thought far, far away.

Toby has touched every inch of his body, gentle firm fingertips skimming and steady palms pressing, and now, his mouth and nose are following roughly the same path, and as much as he desperately wants to do the same and start mapping out Toby’s body, he’s in no hurry for this to end, and if lights on comes before Toby is done-

“You’re not very ticklish,” Toby mutters.

“Are you?”

“Guess you’ll find out soon enough,” Toby replies, and he doesn’t really have time to process this, because, Toby is gently prying his legs further apart.

He takes a steadying breath, and it doesn’t do much to slow his jackhammering heart down. “Toby-”

Warm hands gently squeeze his thighs, and then, oh, God, Toby’s mouth…

…

Waiting for count to be over, Toby can swear several people are looking closely at Chris and him.

Chris appears unconcerned by this, and he wishes he could be, too.

He knows there’s a view to their pod from O’Reily’s and from one of the other Irish men. O’Reily might get irritated, but he’s going to check out O’Reily’s pod and bunk after breakfast. Maybe, he’ll be lucky, and O’Reily will get some of the other Irish to let him check out their pods, too.

People are going to assume he was doing one thing when Chris was lying down, and they’re going to assume Chris was doing something different when it was him (Toby) who was lying down.

He’s accepted this as best he can, but he’d like to have some idea of who exactly is in a position to credibly spread these assumptions.

Finally, count ends, and they head to the showers.

…

Tossing his hairnet into a nearby trashcan, O’Reily sits down across from them. “I’ve heard Sister Pete might be visiting Dr Nathan today.”

“Take a shower after breakfast,” he orders.

O’Reily rolls his eyes. “Keller did, and I can still smell you on him.”

Sniffing Chris, he says, “No, you can’t.”

“We could easily change that. I wouldn’t have any objections to making it where he could,” Chris offers.

“I hate you both sometimes. And if you end up getting shanked again, K-boy, know that you’ll deserve it.”

Unable to help his shudder, he kicks O’Reily, but his feelings brought up by the words are replaced by concern for O’Reily.

“Hey.” Chris reaches over to O’Reily. “I know Beecher didn’t kick you that hard.”

O’Reily bats the hand on his neck away. “He can be stronger than he appears; just caught me off-guard.”

“Yeah, I used to wrestle with him, there’s no doubt he’s strong-”

“Really not a good thing to bring up, especially right now,” O’Reily mutters.

“The point is, you’re the one non-hack, non-religious leader he’ll always be careful with.”

“K-boy, really, don’t start. Beecher, you especially don’t.” Insisting he’s fine, he quickly leaves.

“We need to do something,” Chris declares.

 _There is no we_.

Thankfully, based on Chris’ utter lack of reaction, he didn’t say that aloud.

He means it differently than it would have sounded.

“He’s your dance partner in crime.” At Chris’ surprised look, he continues, “I don’t want to know, Chris. I’ve told you: Do whatever you want. If you need me for something that won’t get me shanked or screw up my already incredibly slim chances at parole, I’m there.”

“But O’Reily isn’t going to do anything about his strange new smell or the fact a gentle kick that wouldn’t bruise a kid made his nerves go through him like fire unless he’s forced to. You want him better, you do something. I’m going to respect his emotional idiocy and, in turn, not be targeted by his Machiavellian genius.”

Finishing his breakfast, Chris nods. “Fair enough.”

“Good.” Leaning over, he rubs his nose across Chris’ neck. “I’ll see you later.”

…

There are divorce papers in the bottom of Rosalie Schibetta’s purse, and she swears that Mick coyote who searched said purse is judging her.

Part of her can’t blame him; she feels heartless.

However, whereas, it used to be more acceptable to be a widow than a divorcee, things have changed. Divorce happens, even in big, traditional Italian families, and not many people really think much of it.

She’d wanted to meet Peter’s associates. She could have made, at least, one of them as a Fed, but Peter had insisted she stay completely out of it, and maybe, it was cowardice, or maybe, it really was misplaced faith in his ability to handle himself, but she’d listened when he’d said, ‘Just focus on getting your doctorate, Ro. I don’t want you ever involved in the family’s business.’

Well, she’s involved now, and it’s him who’s blaming her.

She called him every night even though she could hear Warden Glynn’s breath as they talked, she made him goopy chocolate brownies (she would have happily bought him ones that didn’t require a spoon, but he insisted he wanted hers), and she matter-of-factly told people, “My husband’s in prison for money laundering, but he’s not a violent man.”

Then, it was days before she could get a hold of the warden, and when she’d come in person, she’d been told her husband had been attacked, was physically recovering, but also, he was in the psych ward and had insisted she **not** be on the visiting list.

Fine, she’s told herself numerous nights.

She didn’t give her first kiss or virginity to Peter, but she’s given everything else. She wasn’t to the point she could bring herself to mail the papers to him, but now, once he has his say, she’s going to decide whether she leaves with them still in the bottom of her purse or if she leaves them in this place before she drives to the nearest post office to mail her wedding ring to Peter’s Aunt Marisa.

“Mrs Schibetta?”

Repressing a sigh, she nods when Peter Marie Reimondo comes over.

A nun in charge of the psychological health of prisoners.

She guesses she should consider herself lucky her Peter hasn’t succeeded in killing himself, yet. The thought he might have tried, though-

I’ve done the best I can, she insists to herself. If he’d let me, I could have and would have protected him better.

“May I see my husband, now, please?”

She’s careful to keep her tone polite. She’s not going to refer to this woman she only barely knows as ‘Sister’, but she can be civil the same way she endured having a priest officiate her wedding.

Her actual sister has never approved of the marriage, and for all Bell is a flake who loves falling in love more than she’s ever loved any of the countless men she’s gotten herself entangled with- maybe, for once, she should have listened when Bell said, ‘You don’t get your dream wedding, you won’t get your dream marriage, Ro.’

“In a minute.” Reimondo gestures to her office. “If it’s alright, I’d like to talk to you, first.”

No, it’s not alright, she’s tempted to scream. I have divorce papers in the bottom of my purse, I haven’t seen or even heard from my husband for over five months, and I just need things to change. Good or bad, I’ll handle it, but I can’t keep being a married woman with no husband. Give me my husband back, or make me a divorcee.

Managing to give a nod, she thinks she should probably care more about how the Mick coyote stops Reimondo from following her in. “Sister, a minute first?”

The door shuts, and of course, the office is sound-proofed against shifter ears.

Damn it.

…

Reimondo looks outright tired when she comes back in. “Thank you for waiting. How have you been doing, Mrs Schibetta?”

She feels something in her just- “Are you going to tell me what’s been going on with my husband?”

“I-”

“I’m guessing that guard just told you about the divorce papers. If he didn’t, yes, I have divorce papers. I haven’t completely decided I’m giving them to Peter, but you aren’t helping anyone by stopping me from seeing him. I hope you don’t believe you are.”

“I know you might not appreciate this, but I do have some idea how difficult this has been for you. Peter was very badly hurt by another inmate. I can’t give you this man’s name or tell you exactly what he did, but Peter has had an extremely hard time coming to terms with what happened. However, I also understand you need to do what’s best for you. It’s not my job to try to discourage a wife from divorcing an inmate here.”

“May I see him, then?”

“Before you do, I need you to understand certain things might severely impede his progress. I don’t mean the papers. Words and actions-”

“‘To obey’ isn’t used in most Catholic weddings. Peter wanted the priest who baptised him to perform the ceremony, and he wanted me to wear his mother’s cross necklace. I agreed on the conditions I wore a blue dress and said those vows.”

“It’s a dirty word in his world, ‘feminist’, but I do believe a woman should decide whether she gets married or has a career, that if she has a career, she should be paid the exact same thing a man doing the job gets, and that the law should do much more to help abused women, especially ones with children, be free from any man who hurts them. All that, and I still believe men should cherish and protect their wives, provide for her. If a woman agrees to marry a man, she’s saying, as long as he does that, she’s giving herself to him.”

“I’m not going to yell or insult my husband. If he refuses to tell me what’s going on, then, he’s made his choice. I’m here to give him a chance. If he tells me what’s been going on, if I believe he still loves me, if he’s sorry for all the times I’ve cried, then, maybe, I can still be his. But don’t ask me to pretend everything’s fine or that what he’s done is fine.”

Reimondo nods. “He does love you very much, Mrs Schibetta. What happened to Peter was traumatic, and unfortunately, trauma sometimes causes people to painfully push away the ones who love them the most. He’s going to try to explain some things, but you need to prepare yourself for the fact he might not tell you exactly what has happened. And if he does- well, it might be hard for you to hear.”

“At least, I’d hear something. Peter and I didn’t talk much about his family or his business with them, but we talked about everything else, all the time. If he was in a coma or physically couldn’t talk, it’d be one thing. But to put me, his wife, on the no-visitors list-”

“He didn’t want you to see him- the way he saw himself after the attack was full of self-shame. He didn’t want you to see the person he saw himself as.”

Yeah, well, I didn’t want him to see me when I was curled up on the bathroom floor with the stench of diarrhoea, vomit, and period blood still in the air despite the toilet being flushed several times, a part of her is tempted to say, but he sat down, put a cold cloth on my head, and just moved my hands away when I tried to claw at him until I was ready to try standing back up.

A week later, he was back to looking at her as if she was the most beautiful girl around.

“I’ve always seen him clearly, and I’ve always loved the person I’ve seen.”

“Let’s go see him, then,” Reimondo quietly says.

…

“Peter.”

Hearing Sister Pete’s voice, he looks up, and his heart clenches.

God, he’d almost forgotten how beautiful Rosalie is.

Beautiful, but also unbearably tired and sad.

“Rosalie. I’m sorry.”

Coming over, Rosalie sits down, and he wonders, if he tried to take her hand-

He can’t tell her. It’d be a miracle if she could still see him as a man, want him to be her husband. It was a miracle when she’d married him.

But she’d insist he not deliver the killing blow. Killing Adebisi (flashes of feeling the table under him almost make him shudder) could get him a life sentence or even death row.

She’d been his first, and he’d fully intended to be her last. Whoever she was with before she said, ‘I love you, Petey,’ before she said, ‘I do,’ and, ‘til death do us part,’ doesn’t matter.

He’d never- he wouldn’t choose to be with anyone else, woman or man, but it still happened. He wasn’t strong enough to stop it. He was stupid enough to get himself in such a situation.

“How’s Belladonna?”

She shrugs. “Bell’s her usual self. I haven’t told her much about all this. Whatever exactly this is. She knows you’ve been a little distant. She might be moving to Palm Springs soon. If so, I’ll send her a bus ticket when she’s ready to come back.”

Taking a breath, he asks, “Could we talk privately?”

…

Sitting down at the table Andy and Hill are playing at, Ryan nods to Andy. “He’s cheating.”

“I’m winning,” Hill responds.

“What?” Studying the board closely, Ryan sighs. “Fine, he’s trying to cheat, then. Anyway, heads up: Adebisi got a huge new shipment in. What I hear, some of it might be tainted.”

“Seriously, man?” Hill expression becomes disgruntled, and adding choice words in the mix, he rants, “That’s the last thing I need. That damn podmate of mine is always- what am I supposed to do if he ODs up on his bunk in the middle of the night? Especially if he moves my chair again?”

“If you want, I could be your podmate,” Andy offers.

Ryan laughs. “I’d like to take bets on that: Who kills who? Your Muslim boy or Hill’s homeboy.”

“Saïd isn’t a boy,” Andy says. “And he wouldn’t kill anyone. I mean, I guess in self-defence, yeah, but otherwise, no.”

“Oh, but Mobay is?” Hill shoots Andy a dirty look. “That said, he isn’t mine, he wouldn’t give Saïd a reason, and if he did, Saïd would wipe the floor with his ass.”

“I’m pretty sure black people came up with the term ‘homeboy’,” Andy says.

There’s a pause, and then, Hill gives a shrug of concession. “You serious, Schillinger?”

“Yeah. It’d be nice being on the top bunk for once.”

“And you’re clean?”

“Toby hasn’t killed me, has he?”

“I don’t think Beecher would-” Ryan starts.

Offering his hand, Hill says, “Deal.”

Andy shakes it.

…

In the private room, Peter says, “Thank you for coming.”

Rosalie crosses her arms. “I never wanted to stop.”

“Ro-”

The silence hangs heavy.

“My life flashed across my eyes,” Peter blurts out. “One of the last things I saw was you. I saw you a lot. But I thought my life was over. Then, it wasn’t. And- I wasn’t me. I wasn’t the man you married.”

After a moment, she says, “Even knowing it must have been terrible, I never imagined it was that bad.”

“I didn’t want- I just needed time to get together, and I didn’t know- I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You’ve never let me handle big things alone, Petey. Don’t you remember what you once said?”

Wincing, he nods. “Yeah. And- I still mean it. It was just- different this time with me. You’ve never almost died, Ro, and I hope you never go through something like that. What happened was brutal, and maybe, I wasn’t actually in danger of that, I don’t know, Doc Nathan isn’t here to talk to, but there was a time when I was sure I’d be dead any minute.”

“When I realised I wasn’t, well, uh, it was still brutal. Angry, confused, scared, part of me wanted to see you more than anything, but another part, this is on me, not you, another part kept thinking I’d lose you, and I swear, I was never scared of that before, but- Sister Pete says, that when people face death, sometimes, all these new feelings they never had before come around.”

She sighs. “Yeah, that makes a sort of sense. I can see how that might happen. But, Peter, I’m your wife. I’ve always been there for you. And until this, it was the same.”

“I’m sorry.” He takes her hand, and they both let out a breath.

“You can’t do this again. Whatever exactly happened, I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I hate that you’ve been in so much pain. I want to make things better.”

“You have. Just being here, I haven’t felt this good in so long.”

“But- I can handle you being in prison. If someone messed you up permanently in the body, I’d stay with you. In sickness or health, right, baby? I’m not going to be a wife with no husband, though. It’d be better to be a divorcee. Hell, being a widow, at least, then, I could say, like it or not, God’s will was being done.”

She kisses his cheek. “I’m yours. Either let me be part of your life as much as I can, be mine, or as much as I love you, Peter, you won’t have me at all.”

Kissing her, he presses his head against hers when it breaks. “I don’t want to be anyone else’s, Ro. I love you, sweetheart. I promise- Just, please, don’t ask me about what happened, okay? I’m not ready to talk about it with you. I have to, some, with Sister Pete, but just you and me? I’ll try to call you as soon as I can, and if you’ll start visiting again-” He leans back to look at her.

She nods.

…

“Could I ask you something?”

Giving her a surprised look, the coyote nods. “Of course.”

“My husband wants to go back to Emerald City. Would he be safer there this time? Or would it be better for me to convince him to go to Gen Pop?”

He starts to answer, but they both notice a black-haired man coming over.

“O’Reily, what in the hell are you doing out of Em City?”

The prisoner holds up a pack of cards. “Cyril’s visiting. Oh, hey, you’re Rosa Schibetta, aren’t you? Peter Schibetta’s wife.”

Wondering if he’s sick or always smells like this, she concentrates on not wrinkling her nose. “Rosalie, but yes. Are you one of my husband’s friends?”

“I don’t know him very well, but he made Em City more interesting when he was there. Do you think he might be back soon?”

“I really can’t say.”

He nods. “Well, when he does, things’ll be better. Officer Murphy here was on vacation when your husband was hurt, but he’s always worked hard to keep the violence down.”

“That’s right, Mrs Schibetta. There are no guarantees, but I promise, if your husband goes back to Em City, I’ll try my best to make sure nothing else bad happens to him,” Officer Murphy says.

She doesn’t get the impression either is lying, and she starts to say thank you, but noticing a black man looking over, she feels a shiver go through her. She can’t tell if he’s human or shifter, but she can tell he’s dangerous.

“Who’s that?”

“No one important, Mrs S.,” O’Reily says. “You don’t need to worry. Hey, it was nice meeting you.”

Offering her hand, she says, “You too.”

He shakes it, and then, Officer Murphy leads her out.

…

Gloria opens the door. “Come in.”

Sister Pete kisses her cheek. “How’ve you been doing?”

“It’s getting better. I still can’t go outside during the day without an ungodly amount of sunscreen, but my senses are calming down. I’ve been managing to drink the recommended daily amount of pig’s blood without coughing it back up. How are things at Oz?”

“Good. We all miss you, and so do some of the inmates, but everyone’s managing.”

“Would you like some tea?”

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

They go to the kitchen.

“What about Augustus?”

“Gloria, everyone is managing. After you put the fear of God into Sean, he’s unlikely to ever put Augustus in the hole again. And if he does, it’ll probably be with his wheelchair.”

“If only I could have done the same with the whole practise,” she mutters.

Giving a small nod, Sister Pete asks, “Does that mean you’re not coming back?”

“Preston left,” Gloria quietly says. “Part of me wants to be hurt and angry, but the truth is, I don’t blame him.”

She sits down, and ignoring the tea, Sister Pete takes a hand in hers.

“Before, it was my job. Now- the question of “‘til death” is a lot more complicated. The question of whether we’d ever have kids, us having biological ones has been answered. And if our positions were reversed, I don’t think I’d want to stay married to a vampire while I grew old and eventually died a natural death.”

“I’m sorry, Gloria. If there’s anything I can do-”

Gloria nods. “I know. Thank you. What about you?”

“Everything’s largely the same. I’m hoping to get my new victim-offender program off-the-ground soon.”

“I hope it works.”

“Thank you.”

Gloria takes a breath. “Listen, if you’re up for it, why don’t we go somewhere? Find a restaurant that serves blood and have a regular ladies’ night out?”

“That sounds wonderful.”

…

Toby can taste everything pouring off Chris, and looking down, he’s afraid his brain is going to permanently short-circuit.

“Are you sure?”

He doesn’t like the fact he feels weak asking this, but he does.

Laying stretched out with normally pale eyes so dark and sweat mixed with the smells of arousal and almost desperation, ‘beautiful’ truly is the only word to describe Chris.

Beautiful but still- he doesn’t want to hurt Chris, and he doesn’t want to do anything Chris is going to resent or outright hate him for. If a conversation somehow made Chris feel so weak that Vern’s plan became part of a personal way for Chris to retake power-

They both know how men on the receiving end are viewed in Oz, and yet, part of him is still considering offering to let Chris be the one who-

Making contact with his shoulder area, Chris rubs circles. “You’re killing me, Toby. Yes, I’m sure. Hey, there’s no room for Vern here. We agreed, so, stick to that. It’s not going to hurt. Please, just- do something.”

“I have been.”

Chris might end up being the one who kills him. “Toby, I swear to Christ, if you don’t-” Taking a deep breath, Chris’ calmer voice doesn’t match his still overwhelming smell or the strong, fast thump of his pulse and heartbeat. “I’m sure, Toby. I want this. I need you, alright? Because, I love you, and doing this, hell, it’s one of the best ways I know of for two people in relationship to show that love, make it stronger.”

“Okay.” Leaning down, he kisses Chris, and clearing his mind of all doubts, he moves into position.

…

They’d put a towel over the wet spot, and ignoring the feel of it against his skin, Chris curls more closely around Toby.

He’s never letting go, he can’t.

When Toby’s parole comes, he’ll have to figure some things out, but for as long as he can, he’s never letting go.

Part of him is tempted to tell Toby that Vern had absolutely nothing on Toby, but he meant what he said: This pod, this bunk, them together, they need to make sure that Vern stays out of all of it.

Toby yawns, and his warm hands strokes his (Chris’) arm. “I love you, Chris.”

Closing his eyes against the feelings, he concentrates on nothing but the feel of warm skin and his own beating heart. “I love you, too, Toby.”

…

Waking up, Toby feels good in a way he hasn’t this since before he came to Oz.

Kissing Chris’ forehead as he untangles himself, he slips down, and spotting a pair of Chris’ underwear, he grabs them. Except for the times he’s been thrown in the hole and possibly when he was very young, he’s never slept fully nude, but at Chris’ grumbling, he’d forgone a shirt last night.

Tossing the underwear up, he goes over to the toilet.

Not surprisingly, Chris slides down without putting them on.

After they’re ready for count, Chris nuzzles his neck.

Laughing, he tries pushing Chris away, but Chris stays more-or-less stuck. “Did I wake up a human and you the shifter?”

“I’ve always had a strong sense of smell,” Chris mutters. “You don’t know how good you smell. I want to-”

It’s probably for the best there’s the buzz telling them to come out.

After count, O’Reily comes over. “Hey, did you hear that Doc Nathan might be visiting today?”

“No, and how did you hear this,” he responds.

O’Reily shrugs.

“If she does, you really should-”

“Even if we weren’t in glass pods, just coming near you two would be enough to clue most people in on what you and K-boy did last night.”

He doesn’t know what Chris had been planning to say, but smacking the back of Chris’ head is automatic.

“Yes, we smell normal for two people who had sex,” and he’s not sure why, but Chris is genuinely shocked he just said this. “You haven’t had sex, and even if you had, you still shouldn’t smell like this.”

Rolling his eyes, O’Reily heads towards the showers.

Taking in the expression on Chris’ face, he says, “My kids are coming this Saturday. If you’re going to freak out or-”

“I’m doing the opposite of freaking out, Toby. Trust me. I’m just a little surprised you, the one who always tries to make me be quiet whenever anyone even just might be within earshot, said that so freely.”

He squeezes Chris’ arm. “Well, O’Reily’s right. We live in a glass pod. Come on, let's go shower.”

“Sounds good. I’ll get the towels and soap, you go try to coax some warm water out for us.”

…

Andy and Hill are arguing when he goes into the showers.

“I do not,” Andy insists.

“Yo, Beecher, when you were rooming with Schillinger here, did he make puppy noises in his sleep?”

Yes, is the answer, but- “I don’t make it a habit of listening to people while they’re sleeping. He never kept me up during the night with any noises he might have made.”

Andy gives him a grateful look, and an Aryan snorts. “What about Keller? Everyone saw Vern’s handiwork last night.”

“You aren’t even in Em City,” Andy says.

Catching Andy’s eye, he shakes his head, and Andy goes back to showering.

Unless someone in Oz has developed X-Ray vision- granted, his ass might not have been fully covered by the blanket all night, but for most of the night, it was.

Still, gossip is fast, and in this instance, there’s some accuracy to it.

He considers trying to find out who this Aryan might be on good terms with in Em City, but Chris comes in, and the Aryan quickly leaves.

…

“Have you made a decision about the program, Andrew?”

Andy shifts in his seat. “I don’t know, Sister. Um, look, what I did was terrible. I deserve to be in here, and if I could do something- but this is an honest question: What good would it do? Their son is dead. He- he suffered. My dad, for all he’s a shit dad, if someone did something like that to me or Hank, the only way he’d ever agree to sit down with them was if he was planning to shank them.”

“Well, I assure you, you’d be safe. In answer to your question, this might help them, and it might not. They’ve suffered a tragic loss, one of the most horrible things a parent can face. Forgiveness is something I always try to encourage, but it’s not always possible. And while forgiveness is often an important, sometimes vital, step to healing, sometimes, even forgiving can’t provide much peace. Have you talked to Tobias or Kareem?”

“Saïd thinks I should. I haven’t talked to Toby, yet.”

She nods. “It’s up to you, but I’d say they deserve to know you’re sorry, and you deserve to have them know that. They deserve to have their pain heard and acknowledged, and you deserve the opportunity to express that what you did hurt you as well as him. Hopefully, they can find peace and you can come out of this a better person.”

“But you don’t know that that would happen?”

“No. Trauma is a complicated thing. Some people can find peace, and some people can’t. It’s never an easy process, and there are times when things have to get even worse before they can get better. If you agree to this, I will try my best to make sure both you and them are all in a relatively secure headspace before a face-to-face meeting ever takes place.”

“I need more time to think about it.”

…

Gloria has never felt unsafe in Oz.

She wouldn’t say she’s felt safe, but the vague acknowledgement she could be hurt was just that, a fuzzy thought settled in the back of her head. She went to work, she tried not to let her heart bleed too much at some of what she had to patch up, at the autopsies she had to perform, at the sight of people she honestly didn’t believe deserved to be here, and then, she went home to a husband who wanted her to have a private practise or, at least, work at a normal hospital in a good neighbourhood.

The divorce papers were in the mail earlier, and now, she’s at Oz instead of trying to drown her sorrows in wine that will now literally make her incredibly sick.

She was never big on conspiracy theories before, but she’s recently become convinced that the people who argue Stoker must have, at least, been one of the few who knew about the preternatural before the American-English big reveal, if not a vampire or some sort of shifter himself, are probably right.

“Gloria.” Giving her a sympathetic smile, Tim kisses her cheek. “Did you have any problems getting here?”

“No. I took a cab from a vampire owned company.” They’d made it easy for her to get into the cab without being exposed to sunlight, and the specially tinted windows had let her see the sun and feel it’s warmth without causing her rashes, even more vomiting of blood (eventually, she’s been told, this will stop), or literal holes in her skin.

Medically, her body is handling the transition more-or-less the way it should.

But she feels constantly off-balance and shaky in her skin. She can’t convince herself eating meat was the same as now drinking blood. She needs to start reintroducing meat to her diet, but everything she’s always known makes putting raw meat in her mouth too difficult. Her senses are calm as long as she tightly concentrates on keeping them shut down, but a few days ago, she found herself gathering the knowledge that: The man down the block is having an affair, the little girl three blocks away was suffering from a severe case of diarrhoea, and the mailman who delivered her divorce papers likely has an STD.

Knowing she didn’t mean to gather this knowledge doesn’t do much to ease the guilt.

Sean comes in, and smiling slightly, he says, “Hey, Gloria. Good news is: We haven’t had anyone in the hole for two weeks. It’s almost a record.”

“Good. How’s Nurse Grace been doing?”

He sighs. “Sorry for how this’ll make you feel, but the truth is: We need a full-time doctor. Prisoners aren’t responding well to her, and this temporary doc Tim’s managed to find is full of personal emergencies. Saïd is weaker than he should be, I’m afraid one of the Aryans is going to go into a diabetic coma soon, and Beecher keeps insisting O’Reily is sick, but whatever he’s smelling, I’m not. And Schillinger won’t take his lactase unless Beecher’s with him, and let’s just say, Beecher might be getting to a point where Keller’s going to do something that will get him worse than the hole to Nurse Grace.”

Tim looks between her and Sean with clear discomfort, but she's more focused on the fact- Everyone, including most regular visitors, knows how Sean feels about Tim, but she hadn’t realised the extent until right now, and it makes her feel sympathy she doubts he’d appreciate.

In the past, she’d wondered if Tim knew but chose to ignore it, but now, standing in his office with him and Sean, she knows he truly is clueless.

“Why don’t you give me a tour, and I’ll see how I feel being back?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: I'm planning for the next Healing chapter to be the last before moving onto Family, but there is a small possibility Healing will be four parts. 
> 
> I have one big scene planned for Gloria and several smaller ones that have her learning things about what being a vampire truly entails. Peter will come back to Em City next chapter, and I have a really big scene involving O'Reily planned. And finally, there is going to be some significant tension between Chris and Toby, but they'll be back in a relatively good place come Family.


End file.
